Listen, God is singing through the Elms, first as thunder, then as wind, then as trembling leaves and limb.
I was trying to make a little video with one of my bead dancers and Lucy, my Labrador decided she wanted to help. As soon as she saw me get my little coconut drum out she ran to the back and got her ham bone. Then, well, you can hear the rest on the video. I never finished it—this one was too special to me.
This is a happy birthday song. You are welcomed to use it.
I don’t know why it is so hard to tell the truth. It seems like a whole lot of confusion could be eliminated if i would stop trying to make others feel better by telling half truths.
On the other hand, no one appointed me to be the town crier either. It is not my job to go around shouting out the business of those in my community.
What is my responsibility to my family, friends, community? When do I say something and when do I just look away when something doesn’t seem right?
I’m exhausted. I’ve been combing fleas out of Janie’s coat and rubbing coconut oil with peppermint into her skin to keep the nasty, biting pests aw.ay. She goes to be spayed tomorrow. We are having the bug man come while she has gone. Those two obvious problems will be resolved.
As far as the other troubles go, I know the truth is supposed to set me free, but even Jesus’s didn’t give straight answers. He spoke in parables and drew in the sand. Is that because truth was sometimes hard to pin down or did he just not to hurt anyone’s feelings?
I’m tired of trying to figure it out.
All I’m saying is that the emperor is passing by and if you don’t want to be exposed to that Dairy Air then you better close your eyes! Go ahead and close your eyes. We can’t figure it all out in one night anyway.
This was in my Facebook feed this morning and it grabbed my attention. The guy who posted it has had many close calls with death, so he holds on to his life with a special tenacity. It seems that Life keeps calling him to go deeper into her mystery, and he always says “Yes.”
He is one of the most vivacious men I have ever known, and I only know him a little, I only know him from the posts he has made, and by the friends he associates with. But there is a quality about him that tells me he says Yes to life over and over, whether it is a battle cry or a whisper, he says Yes. He encourages people and gives strength, hope and love, he is compassionate in politics and I don’t think he has ever met a stranger.
His name is Atma Jodha Singh and you can find him on Facebook. He is truly remarkable.
This is a shout out to the resilient. Thank you for your courage and for the way you love this sweet ole world.
I do not know who to give credit to for this meme. I found it on Facebook.
She is my best friend and worst enemy. We just had a huge fight. She thinks I am trying to kill her for her money! That is the craziest thing I have ever heard her say. That is crazier than the hallucinations. She makes me so mad I wish I could disappear sometimes. She is the queen of flowers and fences.
There is a beautiful chant called The Great Song of God or the Sri Guru Gita. It takes about an hour to sing if one knows the chant well and chants with concentration.
When I heard it I had such a longing for God. It made me feel the way the singer feels in the Starfield song A Cry in my Heart:
So I decided to borrow the tune to the ancient Sri Guru Gita and make a version of this devotional song that I could memorize and chant from my heart.
I was a practicing Catholic at the time, so there are a lot of references to the divine as the shepherd, and the living water and such. I’m ok with that. But there is zero hellfire and brimstone. Religion has many flaws, but it has value too. Wisdom is to know when to listen to the still small voice while dissolving all the hate that creeps in.
Here are the lyrics to my version. It is nothing as grand as the Shri Guru Gita, but it was my heart’s desire to tell all I knew about about the Beloved.
O my beloved creator, lord of my heart, at your word all things came to be, spiraling stars and swaying trees, I am blessed just to witness these things.
You made me to hunger and thirst for your word, to crave your life-giving drink. Like a mother feeding her baby, so tenderly do you care for me
Like a Shepherd watching over his baby lamb, you are near to me, never far away. Even when I wander and I’m lost and afraid, you know where I am and you rescue me.
Teacher, you lead me from darkness to light, make a way for my journey day and night. Though the path be steep and the Journey long, you strengthen me with your immortal song.
I am not yet as you would have me to be, but by your grace I live day by day, to absorb the water from the rock, to let your holy spirit form me.
Let my very self be transformed. Pour your life into me Messiah. Let my heart of stone become tender flesh, an efferent pulse of your holiness.
Each morning I come to you in prayer and you wash away doubt and worry. Then I wait for you to hire me, to put me to work in your vineyard.
I keep vigil for your counsel Lord, let me listen with an open heart. Put a gatekeeper at my lips, let my understanding deepen.
O grant me discretion and wisdom, respect for the Lord and piety, let courage keep me on the path and quench my thirst with your teaching.
Temper my voice with silence, teach me to listen well. If I listen to your still small voice your endless wonders are revealed.
O God, if only my soul could be like a perfect rose on a perfect morning, my perfume I would offer you, I would live and grow only to please you.
Now today is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad. Let us magnify the Lord together; let us praise and exalt him forever.
Amen
Welcome to Tree Talk.
This tree (which is an uncut post if you think about it, seriously lol) is going to show up now and then and invite you to share your thoughts. I just want to listen to you. Tell me about your day, your dreams, anything.
Or you can open a window wherever you are and just relax, listen to the wind in the leaves if you are near a tree, feel the breeze. My prayers will be with you.
This is a time out. Quiet. Peace and quiet. Right here, right now, there is time enough for this.
I am an inexperienced, wishy-washy water sign and I am noticing that I can’t stop myself from posting new stuff as soon as I think I should put it out there. But then I realize it’s crap and I have to go back and change it. Again. And again.
So what I am wondering is this: if you read a post and then I update it, do you get a notification that I have updated or are you left with the last sorry version in your memory to haunt you forever?
Could you let me know, please? I am trying to learn enough self-control to only post after I have gone over the writing a zillion and three times, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.
This is a song that helps prepare one for meditation or prayer. It helps bring about a state of quiet attention and gentle anticipation of goodness.
***
I hear the song of the Holy Dove, I hear You calling, my own true love,
Your song brought daylight to the land, I hear you calling; here I am.
Speak to me, Lord, for I am listening.
The morning stars lean close to hear what you might whisper in my ear.
In the shadow of your wings I’ll stay, your own beating heart will guide my way.
Speak to me, Lord, for I am listening.
The earth sighs deeply responding to the song you sing making all things new. Speak to me Lord, I am listening. I am here.
WordPress, there was one other cyberlove before you, (Facebook doesn’t count count for some scary reason.) It’s true. But I’m getting rewired..
Before I loved you, I Loved Tumblr. I wrote a song for them. But now I want to give it to you.
Now wait a minute! Don’t be upset! It’s not regifting. It’s more like my love for Tumblr has evolved, yeah, that’s it, it has evolved, and now I am smitten by you. Here, you’ll understand once you hear the song. I can’t help it. I’ve been changed in my what do ya call it, my neurophysiology.
Ever since the singing tree experience (when I was eight) during which I heard and felt God singing/living/breathing/laughing/living/loving through every cell of my being, I’ve craved a regular spiritual practice. But wanting something and having it are not the same thing.
There were times when I had trouble convincing myself that getting out of bed would be a good idea. It seemed much safer to hide deep under the covers.
These psalms helped me get past that. I recorded them so that when I didn’t have the strength or motivation to read them, I could just click and listen. Soon I had them memorized and they became part of my flesh and bones. In fact, once my son said something about college that made me happy and I said, “Oh! You have made my heart happier than when grain and wine abound!” And I meant it. Lol.
“Why don’t you take it down a notch. ” They said. Or, “Pardon me, your slip is hanging down past your ankles and the lace is getting all caught up in that rose bush over there.”
Sometimes we act weird to protect ourselves. And sometimes it’s not an act!
It has always been a little of both for me. Acting weirder to protect an inner weirdo.
When I was younger I would have offered you a purple butterfly, which was an imaginary creature I plucked from midair.
I gave them to people to scare them if they thought I was a witch because I got tired of people thinking that I was witchy. Putting these little butterfly spells on them made them leave me alone.
But sometimes I gave them to people who just needed a boost of magic from the spirit world and I had a way of wishing their well being into something almost palpable. So they got a butterfly with a wave of energy from my hand.
So, I was weird and it was fair that people called me weird.
I read a lot. I thought outside the box. And I had had enough trauma to develop a whopping case of Dissociative Identity Disorder.
I didn’t call it that, of course. I didn’t call it anything. I didn’t even notice it. I thought everyone had big chunks of time missing. It didn’t even occur to me that I was not like everyone else until I was older.
Screeeeeeeeeeeeech. Stop. Hold it right there. First of all, everyone has a little “extra dash” of personality that they don’t show to all the world. It is perfectly normal to have many facets to our personality, and some can be quite different from others. The problem with D.I.D. lies in the lack of communication between different parts of self and lack of consensus. Sometimes the right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is doing, and if it did it would be really pissed off!
So when I say I wasn’t like everyone else I only mean that my other classmates were not ending up in neighboring towns without knowing how they got there, nor were they missing whole days of school while thinking only five minutes had passed by.
All I’m saying is that I could have used an app to tell me whether or not I was behaving normally. I would have had less anxiety if I didn’t always have to second guess how to be considered normal and acceptable.
But doesn’t everyone feel awkward anyway? Isn’t that why awkward is a stand-alone word?
If my quirks were all filed down I’d be a zombie. I’d have no verve. And so would you. If all your oddities were stamped out you’d be like white bread at the bottom of the stairwell of a high school. But that doesn’t mean we don’t need to correct one another from time to time. We need to communicate.
There is this juice that flows through us, and if it flows into all parts of us unimpeded we are like bright lamps. If it flows between us unimpeded, our society is pretty awesome as well.
Let me think….how does electricity work when it flows from point to point? I’m tempted to include an article here about electricity, because it seems I could make a good analogy between how it flows and is used to power a lamp, and how the energy of consensus flows through all the parts of personality to make up a fully functioning, well-rounded person, the kind of person that lights up a room and makes you want to hang around to see what happens next.
The same kind of flow needs to happen between people too. I can tell when all is well, or if I step on your toes, I say, “excuse.”
Maybe the article I choose should be about electromagnetic energy and not simply electricity. (Now I am rubbing my nerdy hands together in anticipation of a hunt for an article that would suit my needs. Oh boy!)
I don’t know, maybe there would never be an app that could tell me when to tone it down or how to modulate or moderate or meditate or masticate this food for thought whether I like the taste of it or not.
Maybe the point is that as I grow into myself my light can grow with the flow or diminish.
It is an inside job, but we need each other. As I have said before, we have to do it by ourselves, but we never have to do it alone.
I need to be a part of everyone and everything, but in a natural, organic way, a give and take, breathing way.
If I tell you when your slip is showing and you tell me my collar is crooked we could look after each other without malice. We could say with equal measure how beautiful the other is on any given day, and how utterly unique they are and how completely lucky we are to know them.
One of the best compliments ever paid to me was by my first set of foster parents, Kent and Sharen Anonymous. They said when they met me, “You are an original first edition.” That made me very happy.
What if our quirks were the point after all.
I’m just saying,
sometimes it really sucks to be me,
sometimes I hate who I turned out to be.
But then when the wind bends the Elm branches down to my level and lets me climb in,
I’m happy I’m me, I’m happy to be, I’m perfectly fine with finally being just who I am.
And I would be even happier now if you could you and be here with me too,
Oh, ooo ooo ooo ooo ooo (pronounced u as is ewe cause it’s late and I don’t know a good rhyme for too. Don’t say boo!!!!!) Just love me and let me love you too.
I will develop this further.
I may have made it out of the Pit, but that does not mean I am home free. I can tell by the way my world is getting all jittery around the edges, like an analog TV that is losing its picture that I may need to go back into self-rescue mode.
I’m not feeling well, physically I mean. I am having some kind of autoimmune flare. I am on fire only no one can see that I ‘m burning. Even my lips are burning like they do when I have a fever.
Every joint hurts. My skin hurts. My eyes hurt. But the thing that hurts the most is that I am not grounded; I have lost that feeling that I’m moving toward enlightenment. Instead, I am slipping down a steep, muddy slope that leads to obscurity, to the unknowable
I don’t know why I have to lose my mind from time to time, but it seems to be part of the human experience. I don’t know anyone who goes through life feeling all blissed out every single day of their life. Maybe a saint feels that way, but probably, if they are like any of the saints I have read about, they have to have their share of misery just like the rest of us.
There is this song, it’s hilarious. It used to come on some TV show when I was a kid. All I can remember is that they sang, Pain, Despair and Agony on Me in a plaintive twang, and that’s how I feel this morning.
…which is really pretty funny when I think about it.
The birds think it’s funny too. It is barely daylight and they are ecstatic just because the sun is rising again. They wake up in such a good mood every day they would think anything is funny. I like their attitude.
So, I’m not well. That means the first thing I need to do is stop beating myself up for being sick. I have a terrible habit of kicking myself when I’m down. I’d never treat anyone else that way. Why do I do that to me?
I’m going to take care of me the way I would take care of someone else.
I’ve got several projects planned, but I’ll have to see how it goes.
Right now reiki jane wants to snuggle, and when your dog wants to snuggle and the sky is still grey, I say let the day start nice and slow. I kinda like it this way.
Maybe I need to add snuggling to my formula for what do when I feel frazzled instead of clear and serene: Chant, pray, work, play, and snuggle.
But no shirt could match the green of his eyes, not in those days anyway.
It doesn’t take many days like that to drain the green from a little boy’s eyes
.
The color of those days was red and orange/yellow. There were Indian Blankets everywhere, my favorite wildflower, and sandstorms during which red dirt walls could be seen moving into town, giving everyone enough time to take cover if they were smart enough to do so.
There were industrious red and black ants and they were my friends. When I think about that time period it reminds me of Mayan artwork.
You came to my rescue. You were younger than anyone there. How did you know to come for me? I don’t remember screaming or calling for help. I was too scared.
Here is a text version of the story:
http://asingingtree.com/2018/08/18/if-my-anguish-had-a-sound/
I didn’t mean to stray from the pack. I didn’t even know I was lost till I heard my people talking to one another and realized I had no idea what they were talking about. It sounded like a foreign language; it made me sad and homesick.
I am drunk on too much moonlight.
It’s so hard to close my eyes, even though I know it’s the thing to do. But, come on, have you heard cottonwood trees sing in the evening? Who could sleep after that? It’s like a theater full of performers huddled for the pre-show bonding exercises. You can feel the rush. It runs all the way up from the roots and it twists and swirls, rising, rising, till all at once every limb is shaking joy into every leaf. Tree exhales, we inhale: one breath.
It’s not the kind of thing that makes a fool sleepy. Instead, it is a wake-up call for the avid dreamer.
I’ve been lost for about 30 hours I think. I’ve been a wandering fool.
Once upon a time
When the windows of the world
We’re left open by mistake,
The cosmic wind blew in.
Well, when the wind blew out
It took seeds and seas and bumble bees
And cats with corduroy trousers.
It left the fools to figure things out,
To listen to wolves
And to wander about.
So I have been doing what fools do, quite happily, fully engaged in being the best fool I could be. I listened carefully and played attention when I was talking to butterflies.
Of course, one should always listen when a butterfly talks, so I was only doing as I should.
I play the fool a lot. Only I am not playing. I am serious about living this way and I don’t understand it when people try to change me,
But I digress!
What I am trying to say is that I’ve wandered away from my tribe, from my group and I’m lost. It seems like I have forgotten how to chant and meditate; I’ve become undisciplined. I have become UNACCOUNTABLE. Even if I chanted a few hours ago, in the green chair by the woodpile.
I can’t account for any lessons learned. There were no visions or miracles.
Well, that’s not entirely true. There was a miracle. It is in the early stages. I’ll tell you more very soon.
I guess if I had not wandered I would have missed this miracle altogether. So,
To wander is sometimes serendipitously beneficial. The is the story of my life. I’ve wandered from pillar to post in what seemed like complete chaos, but to the Divine Master, I have danced my danced perfectly well, always being right where I need to be when I am supposed to be there. I might have fallen and spilled my soup, but it fell into the bowl of a man who needed it more than I did. More than once, I stumbled and fell down a flight of stairs and landed in another time or space where the beds were softer or the poetry loftier than that of the world I left behind. I always end up learning the lessons I need to be learning no matter how well planned or how thoroughly chaotic my life has been thanks to the fool in me who can go with the flow.
But sometimes the fool is not so lucky, or at least the benefits are not so easily worked out, like when one gets lost, or even worse, when one loses another.
Oh! I hear them carrying on like a happy wolf family, yipping and howling, texting and chatting, posting those praying, namaste hands and red hearts and smiley faces, talking about some genius thing Ram Dass said.
And by my own fault, I’m lost, sitting on a rock in the woods eating wandaberries, my face stained with purple juice, an ant farm growing in my abandoned shoes.
I want to come hooooooooooooome. Do you have roooooooooooooom?
Can I bring my butterfly? My ant farm?
My son and daughter-in-law in Dallas just got a pig named Paubla. Apparently, she makes them very, very happy. So I had to include her in my manifesto.
My Spirit Guide, Horse Lady told me to paint a poster to remind myself of the things I need to do to stay focused…at least I think that was my assignment. To be completely honest, when she asked me if I remembered the poster, I didn’t lie; I said “Yes.” That was true. I just couldn’t remember what the poster was supposed to have on it. Therefore, I made one with what I think it should be on it. A Manifesto.
So here is my mission statement.
Gonna sleep like a rock, rise like the morning star, work like a dog, pray like Baba Ram Dass, gonna love and meditate, gonna just be me, gonna live to serve till every one of us is free, gonna laugh and dance and play and sing, and like a happy little child, every once in a while I’m gonna go hog wild! Hog wild.
Let me clarify a couple of points. When I say work like a dog, I am saying that work is good. working dogs are happy dogs. They like to have a job and do it well. So that is what I mean by that. And when I say pray like Baba Ram Dass, well, I aspire to be like him, to learn from him as much as I possibly can and to pray all day, from my heart, the way he does. And to go hog wild? I think we need order, but as Alan Whitehead emphasizes, “Not too much order.”
This video was a fun challenge. A friend gave me two photos and I had to come up with a story about them this is what came up. Now this video has tons of mistakes but I can’t find an edit button! So I decided to post it anyway because it has a good message. “If you do or if you don’t catch the whole milky way, nothing can make me happier than I am with you today.” https://youtu.be/lVTV1s_0SWE
I love walking home with you.
Every day I see something new.
Looking into your eyes
when you’re wondering why
Buttercups dance in the sun
like they do,
I see inspired, unanswered questions,
Bloom one by one, into your truth,
Into your love, into your faith.
My world is blessed by your grace.
The whole world is blessed by your grace.
What if dementia and mental illness are just two neighboring states with poorly defined borders?
In Dementia, people work like overly programmed robots: work, work, work, until they break, then they work no more.
The broken brain malfunctions in chaotic, angry, pain, and whoever “you” happen to be,”you” must be the one to blame.
In Mental Illness, one state over, one man’s spirit’s guide him,
to sleep in a box by the river
while his wife feeds the babes bits of rabbit (oh boy!)
with gallons of heavy cream.
And the rhinos play hide and seek underneath the pickle trees.
In both states, it matters not which,
the population is very thick
with folks, I know and I know I love.
And yes, I have some digs there, too, way out in the way out sticks.
It’s an annex, actually, called the Land of Enchantment,
(oolalaoo!)
where the Pronghorn and the Roadrunner run.
we are roasting ragweed over the fire, tonight when the sky turns dark blue.
What fun!
I’m on my way there now. I’m bringing the butter.
See ya there? I hope you’ll come. Sit by the fire, call the talkin’ rock a liar.
No, not really. Ay ¡Carrizo!
Ha ha hoy!
Ha ha, hoy!
hoy.
Several years ago I had a dream that went into the This Is Important category. In the dream, an adobe, or clay city was crumbling and in its place, golden, shimmering temples were rising up, all by an unseen, but undeniably benevolent power.
All the buildings had fallen except one. It was a tall, lonely tower and there was a demon who lived deep in the cellar. I had to remove the demon before the structure could come down—that was my assignment.
I was terrified because the demon could show up and get in my face in the blink of an eye. I knew it couldn’t kill me; I knew prayer always defeated it, but I had to be diligent, and it was exhausting.
My General in Arms, who happened to be Christ, who also happened to be very muscular and dirty and sweaty like a real working man, was standing on a platform, being congenially in charge of it all. When he saw me he called me up to the platform and said he had something he wanted to show me.
He took me to one side and uncovered a shiny red wagon, the very thing I wanted more than anything in the world. He said it would be mine as soon as I finished my task.
I was happy, but I figured it would be a long time before I’d get to call it my own. I had no idea how to get rid of the demon; it was too powerful for me.
I woke up with memories of the dust rising around beautiful, golden temples.
I’ve thought about the dream a lot over the years. I think the clay city is my body or my family and community. The golden city is the spiritual body and family. It seems both out of reach and already mine, which makes no sense at all.
So, the weird thing is this: mom bought a red wagon for the back of the mower. A shiny red wagon now sits atop the black table that belonged to Nick. We are trying to put it together.
I’ve never told mom about the dream. I just keep looking at it wondering why a red wagon and why now? Is this the red wagon? Does this mean the demon is taken care of? I thought I’d feel a lot better when demon was out.
Somehow I just don’t know if demon is gone, but I must have gained some kind of muscle over it. Why am I getting the wagon, now? I don’t deserve it.
I don’t deserve it but I will use it for good. I’ll haul wood and carry stuff to the barn and back. I’ll do whatever I can to help.
It IS pretty. I could fill it with wild flowers…
Yes. I am learning to master the riding lawn mower. It was terrifying to feel that beast lurch forward, knowing that Reiki Jane, my trusty canine was only a bone’s throw away.
I told mom, “Make Jane go inside; I have no control!” But mom said
“She’s alright. She has control. She won’t get too close while that thing’s running.”
And mom was right.
I practiced riding around the back yard. Pretty soon I was doing circles around the tree and some other obstacles in the impromptu course.
Janie stayed several feet away but ran right along with me having a great time picking up sticks and watching out for wandering wildebeesties.
Mom walked alongside me too. (So what if I didn’t go fast?)
Mom instructed me to go around the irises but I protested because a stuffed rabbit was lying helpless in the path.
Without being told, Janie dashed to the rabbit’s rescue and stowed the helpless creature where it would be safe under the iris. (That dog never ceases to amaze me.)
I got so comfortable astride the Red Beast that I let go and used one hand to wave mom.
“Hi, mom! I’m doing it!”
Today I will actually lower the blades and cut grass. Shivers.
My confidence just ran and hid under the covers. That’s okay. We have a couple of hours before daylight.
I will chant and pray for strength and courage.
No, seriously, that’s what I need to do. I’m skeered.
I went to an AA speaker meeting one night and this man that I already greatly admired for his creativity and intelligence blew me away with the disclosure of his heart of hearts.
After he told his story he sang this song. His version was every bit as moving as Sinead Oconner’s. Of course, I don’t have his video. But here is the original song. Feel the power.https://youtu.be/PU5PwOHJfoA
I met Wendy through metaphysical discussion groups that met at her house, way out in the country where the sky is truly black at night. I don’t think I really believed in stars till I saw the ones that hung over her house. I was 12 and easily mystified.
I was not easily mystified because I was 12; I was primed for that sort of thing by birth. I am a mystical fish, a Pisces with a life path number of 11 and the master number 22. I was bound to be the way I am.
And that is why I believe Wendy was destined to be my Spirit Guide.
When most people hear the word Spirit Guide they think of a guide from another realm, from the spirit world. But I don’t mean it exactly that way. Well, I do, but not entirely.
See, Wendy is 100% real and in this world. She owns and operates Abrazos Adventures, a horse ranch on the outskirts of Portales, New Mexico. She is a down to earth cowgirl, as gritty as they come.
And when I say down to earth, I mean way, way down, down to the subatomic particles in fact. Wendy doesn’t just take matter at face value, but delves into the energy of a thing; she observes the energetic reactions of her horses, her students, her environment, herself, everything. She watches the interactions and learns from each situation how to move from grace to grace, even if the “grace” looks like a major problem before it looks like anything positive.
Well, I am not one of her riding students, but she has been my teacher all these years. Our lives have been linked throughout. Sometimes we were further apart than others; our trajectory resembles a strand of DNA and together we are just beginning to see what is growing out of our lifelong friendship.
One thing I am learning from Wendy is that everyone needs a Wendy! A Guru. A Horse Lady. A Teacher. A Mentor. A Counselor. A Librarian. An Editor. An Energy Healer. A Friend. An Accountability Coach.
I fell in love with Paramahansa Yogananda when I saw his autobiography on her bookshelf. That is when I knew I needed and wanted a guru more than anything in the world.
I spent years and years waiting for one, searching for one and giving up finding one.
I realized there were little gurus all around and within, but I still craved a leader.
Wendy agreed to be my accountability coach. She said she wanted to hear from me every night. She WANTED to hear from me every night to see how I had used my energy to make it a good day. She wanted to know what kinds of things I had been able to do to contribute to my own happiness and to the happiness of the world.
That made me feel so well loved and so cared for, and capable of doing something good in the world.
Little by little I started coming into my own power. (By my own power, I mean I started knowing how to let my higher power work through me.) I started moving from the darkness of helplessness to behaving in a way that made me and the people around me feel lighter and happier.
And that is what a guru does, leads you from darkness to light.
So I think it is natural to long for a guru and it is also natural to be a guru for someone. Maybe someday, if I continue to grow, I can be a spirit guide for another person.
I am just grateful that I found my own, flesh and blood guru. That she was right here in my own hometown. I still have so much to learn from her.
Thank you, Wendy.
When I first started hearing voices my landlord had just installed a new exhaust fan in the bathroom. We live near an airbase and what I heard sounded like a radio transmission. It also could have been radio banter between two feisty newscasters, and there is a public radio station down the road, so I thought that was a possibility too.
No one else could hear it. People started looking at each other in that knowing way when I mentioned it, asking me if I was feeling alright. I stopped telling people about it before long.
I had never heard the voices before the fans were installed.
Finally, years later, I learned about a thing called Apophenia, which is the audio version of Pareidolia, you know, when you see things in random shapes
People with apophenia have very active brains that search for patterns in the random noises of the modern and natural world. That is why people like us hear birds that tweet “Cheater! Cheater!” and washing machines that chum out catchy one-liners during the wash cycle, like, “The jig is up. The jig is up. The jig is up.”
I can’t tell you how many doctors raised their eyebrows when I told them about the radio transmissions; not one of them mentioned apophenia. I had to find out about that on my own, accidentally. I am 100% certain it changed my diagnosis and you know, those kinds of things are hard to get off one’s medical records.
Anyway, If you hear interesting things in the world and you can’t quite figure out where the sound is coming from, or if you are fairly certain the bird is really not telling a story about his friend, Monique who was a teacher and a cheater-cheater-cheater, even though it sure sounds like that, you might have apophenia. And no, you don’t need medication for that. However, something to take notes with might come in handy because you might get some pretty wild ideas from the wires in the walls.
Today we have to pack up the animals and take them to the park (or somewhere) while the bug man comes to bomb the house. We have fleas. I was on flea patrol all night last night.
I can keep them off Jane if I keep her brushed with Eucalyptus oil spread on a bath brush. I tried diluting it in water and spraying her down but that didn’t work. I tried putting it in her bath water, but that didn’t work. But brushing with it directly on the brush kept them off and kept her calm.
The cat is another story. I have the stuff that goes on her spine applied already but I don’t think it’s working.
I hate fleas.
I know they are life forms and I ought to have respect for them. I am sure they serve some purpose in the scheme of things.
I don’t hate them on a personal level.
But they can not live in my house, or on my dog or on my cat and that is that.
asingingtree 