Author: cborsello

Jersey Girl, born on the beach.

Christmas 2017

No decorated tree, no wreaths, no gifts to share (no money to purchase any b/c half the house taxes came due in November). My simple string of color lights are already off the windows in preparation to the move to another town. No snow, no Santa hats, a red turtleneck in deference to the season, but no shower today since the electrical outlet in the bathroom doesn’t work & I simply don’t feel like braving the icebox room for other than quick bathroom functions.

Our Christmas menu is turkey tenders from Schwan’s; we hope for gravy in the package. Also a bag of their mashed potatoes. No hot rolls or stuffing. But we do have a cheesecake defrosting!

This adobe house has reached its heat peak today – low 50’s with electric heaters valiantly chugging in three of the huge rooms. Its heater has not worked for two years. I wear a hoodie as I prepare pizza slices for lunch – which I don’t want, but nothing is defrosted & not much will defrost in the cold. I have taken out some hamburger for dinner later…will have to shave the brick to try & cook it. By then the heater will have rendered cooking tenable.

My roommate sits in her room watching musicals on Turner TV. The cat is the only spirit here who’s independent of the cold, going in & out on his own.  I hold the computer in my lap for its heat value & watch videos, or read books, or maybe will rent an Amazon movie later. (Have my eye on “Priceless,” a hero story.) I watch the alternative blogs, all alight with Trump’s Executive Order & I offer gratitude each time I see another aspect of the story. The Khazarian mob is deadlocked. They’ve arrived in their corner & will not be permitted an exit. Will forgiveness follow? Will we advance enough along the Holy Way to find how to do this, after all the whack-a-mole hammering we’ve received? Centuries of abusive taxes, explosive wars, damage to humanity – women & children destroyed, men broken…take this as far as you dare.

My room is a cardboard paradise. My possessions reboxed & stacked, awaiting the strength of my spine to move into a borrowed vehicle for transport; the bank accounts emptied into pockets of a new landlord & Visa. The comfy, lighted massage studio is empty except for one chair, the dragonfly curtain replaced with dark brown, no light now, no warmth, no hot towels or soft music. The perfect meditation space if you seek focus in darkness & tolerate cold well.

If I have made this sound sad or anything other than practical (a what-it-is scenario), this is your emotion offsetting the situation here. There is a wondrous, tangible gift to me on the eve of the newest of years. My Christmases have for a decade been sere as old leaves. A student sent me a scarf last week, a new hanging for my new space. I missed the Christmas decoration exchange in town and the hen party Chinese Exchange…tho our fiestas (one commercial, one for our residents) were lovely. I read a poem at the latter & helped to hand out maps & sell posters at the former. I am complete with the town.

I invest no sentiment in holidays. To me, they are liquidly transparent days because love doesn’t need a special day or time to be shown. Seeing them as fixed calendar dates only, allows the celebration of their truth to express in my life all the time. My morning walks are filled with gratitudes spoken aloud, my evening climbing-under-the-covers times are filled with prayers of thanks that the day has passed & another awaits, a tomorrow to express lovingkindness once again. In between, I watch the sunlight rediscover the world & the moonlight bestow its blessings in its unceasing ritual, full to none, each month.

This lack of sentiment has freed me from “schmaltz” & heretic empathy. It delights me instead to find miracle & blessing in every stalk of grass, every sighting of a deer in a yard, every wave rising from the ocean to meet my eyes in joyous, frivolous bubbling.

I believe in a wordy kind of love, one which expresses along my right arm, the one skilled in writing. I believe I, among all in the world, am blessed with this altered view & the ability to experience it in such a way that it is shared with you now.

My life is at another pivot point. My meridians stretch from here to wherever I may extend them outward. My hopes are realized in the new-future Politik which will emblazon the Light on Earth so symbolically reborn. I am freed from this dark, cold, sad place. I did all I could to help change up its energy, but six months later, there is no appreciable change of manner or idea. Even with cleaning, this house is unclean. I can straighten every surface, but this adds no comfort & no heat. I no longer serve here as it is of no worth.

Instead, I have been gifted with a clean, bright, sparkle of a home. I have an upstairs/downstairs, layers & levels to live upon. I have furniture coming next Friday – one chair to sit upon, one twin bed, a small table with two chairs, a desk where I can write, write, write. Another town where my talents may manifest in helping as a volunteer, in enjoying the company of familiar faces, in spending my time instead of owing it out in unfulfilled commitment.

A new place, uninhabited for a year, so cleansed of energy. I can invest mine. I can re-set my life to a new compass point. I can choose & select what surrounds me. I can make another statement about my life, rebirth my focus & consciousness.

I’m just in time for the new world to bubble up from the ancient hot springs below the crust.

A new world for me!

The best present of all!!

 

1

Receptacles

Note to Self:

So, I’m unsurprised to be up & writing at 2 a.m.

I spent a lot of money today. The notch in my credit card required me to blow on it so it won’t melt my wallet down.

Worth every penny! I will seek to drop all anxiety around my expenditures. Living in a stretched zone of money has consumed my energy far too long in my life. I’m simply not ready for it to take me over again.

For as much as I have had abundance, I presume upon its continuance. I am proof to Youniverse – perhaps the exception proving the rule…which reverses the rule at once.

I’ve pulled off similar stunts successfully. No stopping now,

For all my concern about being in flow, I am So. It isn’t me running dry, it is a country at large making huge suction sounds. May these be only the swamp running dry! If one cannot see just how manipulated we have been over the short generations of today, one must be wearing a patch over one eye & holding a hand up over the other.

In a generous society such as ours, where people give freely until their fear locks that flow, sadness strolls about finding hearts to roost within. This is, most emphatically, not my fate. I sit assured I am beloved by Source, spinning words like suns spin planets. Should I doubt abundance, I simply look at the varietyof colors found in the hairs on my chin.

I am in this existence, in a time of potential unmatched other than by the original primordial soup (the good swamp) from which all life sprang.

My generation has seen tech spring from tiny transistor radios & watches that miraculously show time, date, & how fast our hearts beat…to driverless cars & the approaching, powerful resource of Replicators. How can I deny abundance?

In the moment, I must redefine it for myself by asserting it is what I have acquired. I am not collecting dollar bills in second beggar position on Date Street by the stores. I’m definitely not starving in a time when so many actually are.

I may wriggle & squirm like a kid enforced in school, but it is always under the hand of knowing better to sit still, said Hand resting upon my crown to direct me to see only faith. I set guards of love & bumpers of laughter at the insanity of starving in a world where apple trees grow hundreds in a season & rain down to be gathered by squirrels.

It is that I have joined an army stocked with weapons of Mass Creation, shooting out enjoyment, creativity, delight, wealth & blessing.

Then I rise in the wee hours to detail the love in my life, the easy joys of polishing another’s hand-crafted vase. I have a chair in which to park my days, several pens to perform word surgeries, many ideas to perfect in description. I have a bed & a means to stay clean in body, I eat well, I stay strong in the physical, re-move myself from toxic situations & rediscover the beauty of life in the desert. I help me. I help others accomplish their goals. I learn, but teach just a bit more than that. I offer myself as a translator of skills to make the lives of others more productive, more accomplishing.

I Am that I Am, but I am that others are, as well.

From the Other Side:

We are all so excited for you & we wake  you to 2 a.m. alleluia ’cause 2 a.m. is a great time to grab your full attention, Little Sister, Big Master! We just had to say how much we love you & where & how you “do” your living. When one well runs dry, whether it’s the oligarchs or the faithless who have defiled it, we help you in inclination & desire to simply move to the next watering hole.

We, too, giggle that you think you are lost at sea in the driest of deserts, or cold in the land where even the water bubbles in fantastical heat just below the surface crust.

We laugh as you puzzle payments – not in cruelty that you are nervy about where it will manifest from, but in a head-shake at your silliness to doubt!

We guffaw with you as you lift your white wings to check the bottom-most feathers are still there.

We flock with you like starlings at dawn & sunset, in a dance of beauty, raucous soundings & waves across the sky. We wheel & clip & sing in your joy of independence & unfettered movement.

We will never let you fall, for we love you beyond gravity’s attempts to hold you down, far past what you think may be your “if not sold by” date, way past any human measure!

Now get this move on, girl. We’re out of the heavy lifting part, leaving that to you. But we’ve got the rest & so much more!

Love,

Us

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

0

Don’t Put Your Glasses Down!

Moving Day approaches. Let’s see now, I’ve moved from Nashville to Truth or Consequences (T or C), to Hillsboro, to Ruidoso, to Ocean City, to Berlin, to Fenwick Island, to Hillsboro, all since 2010, & am now returning to T or C. That’s a LOT of boxes to tape.

I’ve given away stuff I’m now re-buying. I’ve invested, divested, shared, thrifted, lost, found…countless items. I have no idea why we need so much stuff, and, believe me, I have much less stuff than most people I know.

Some basic Laws of Moving I have learned:

  • always buy the heavier duty tape – this is not a time to go for cheaper pricing
  • don’t run out of tape – more than you need is just enough
  • note where you put down your glasses every time you take them off
  • ditto on the car keys
  • keep track of friends, b/c they’re generally going out of town on move day
  • always use good body mechanics
  • don’t attempt to move without a strong back
  • tape EVERYTHING you possibly can
  • when pulling boxes out of the trash, make sure they  have bottoms
  • keep in mind Newton’s second principle: two items cannot occupy the same space at the same time
  • this is a good time to consider an investment in robot tech

I’m sure there are a bunch more I could come up with, maybe something relating to gravity, inertia, stress factors concerning cardboard, how much you really want/need an item, and more. But I’m pretty certain you’ve learned them all through moving yourself. And if you’re one of those unusual folk who’ve stayed put for anything over twenty years, I have only a large well of empathy to tap on your behalf should this time ever come to your door.

Desperation sharpens the memory, but only in the desperate individual. My landlord said call him the day before to confirm the move; my hired helper said call him the day before to confirm the time to be here which I’ve just called & told him; the fella I’m buying the replacement (of the identical computer desk I gave away three years ago) said call him pre-move to remind him I’m coming to pick it up. Do men not come equipped with memories?

Reminds me of the story about the husband who, noticing he can’t sign on, calls out to his wife in the kitchen, “Honey, did you change the password?” To which she replies in her sweetest voice, “Yes, I did! It’s our anniversary date.”

My new place is a duplex, with a second floor & two bedrooms. It’s a real WOW after living with roommates, in motel rooms, in efficiencies – all of which have sprung furniture, with at least one chair where the seat can sink into the floor, with questionable mattresses & extra-cold kitchens. Where I am now, the drier is in the garage, a chill walk from the back swinging doors (which only open if you go through them with approximately the force of a battering ram in the hands of an invading, woad-painted army.) It is always interesting to see how other people live. But for at least a year of the lease, I can live with a view of the Caballo Mountains, topped by Turtleback, with a washer/dryer off the kitchen, a bath and a half plus a small graveled yard for outdoors living when the weather brings surcease instead of subzero.

I guess it just isn’t my gift in later life to stay in one place for long. I guess I’m still searching for the spot where I can stay for twenty years, after which they can just open a hole under the living room floor & bury me. No need for ceremony. Matter of fact, this new place was built atop a lube shop, so there’s already a nice big hole under there, tho the hydraulic lift is most likely gone. But that’s okay. Far more comfy than what I’m always telling people – “just toss me down the nearest elevator shaft.”

Wish me strength & fortitude, strong hands & good eyes. While you’re at it, wish me the ability to hammer in a straight nail as most of my pictures hang at a slight angle, like an earth tremor crossed under the floor before dawn. Wish me up a lot of energy over the next week. But I usually have the place together within 48 hours because after living in a roomful of boxes with a Libra’s keen sense for disorder as pain, it will be total pleasure to have my few things arrayed just how I want them.

With all the homelessness out there (I tell people to get to the Walmart they just make a left after the second panhandler up the road.) No disrespect here, just practical directions, really. (Once, passing through Nashville, I gave a woman in a wheelchair a bill as she sat on the corner in a steady rain. She peered into my car & asked sympathetically if I was living in it.)

One thing more: I would move forever if it meant more stories like these. Life isn’t static, but rotting out is exactly that. Each place gives me gifts of light, love, laughter, the chance to meet new people & hug old friends.

Enough sitting now. The boxes are starting to whisper again…

 

1

Love Lessons / Life Lessons

My roommate pursued getting a dog against my notions that she is incapable of caring for one. (She barely walks, loses her balance at times & just had cataract surgery on both eyes.) She had a notion that a dog would sit quietly by her chair, raising his head for an occasional pat. She had always put her dogs in the backyard, so he would dwell out there 70% of the time in a peace passing understanding, communing, perhaps with the black walnut, or passing clouds. She pictured being greeted upon coming home, gratitude with being fed & all good things as such.

I pictured walks, walks, more walks, feedings, a whipping tail, enthusiasm, quick stops right in front of walking legs & all those things. Guess whose picture took precedence for real?

“Buddy” walked into our lives after being abandoned somewhere in the desert about 26 miles away. He found his way to a ranch house, ignored the cow dogs, collapsing in their yard with bloody pads, ribs defined by starvation, emaciated & dusty. Perhaps abandoned, perhaps lost, perhaps left behind or jounced out of a truck bed – we will never really know. He had to have the strongest will to live, crossing who knows how many miles of unforgiving desert scrub. He’s a Beagle/Basset mix (we guess). The ranchers cleaned him up, fed him & set about finding him a home. The grapevine hummed & the call came here.

I said, “No, I’m not taking care of him, he’s your dog.” I learned my lesson well with my last dog, who grew from the world’s cutest puppy to a 70-pound behemoth at seven months. My then-landlords looked unhappily at his steady “growth spurt” & started talking about other properties available for rent. The clincher was that he did not care to bond with me, rather holding me in a gentle contempt as he squatted all over the house, gazing serenely at the pictures hung on the wall. Although he retained his beauty, people recoiled & other dogs slavered for a chance to demolish him – even teacup chihuahuas. I know I’m no longer a dog person & only one dog walked away with my heart back in the 70’s.

Buddy made his entry, suspicious of doors, balking at the leash, peeing with impunity wherever he stopped, & regularly left “Lincoln Logs” on her dark rugs. Abandonment (such as going to the bathroom) elicited howls of dismay & wild circles upon reunion, less than minutes later. He ate all the cat kibble he could find, drank the cat’s milk & generally poked the cat mercilessly at every opportunity with invitations to “just come play!?”

I walked him 4-5 times daily, foregoing my own health marches to drag & be dragged about town. He gazed longingly at all the mule deer, growled at the horses, attempted conversation with every dog in town whether on a leash or behind a fence & fell desperately in love with every human, close up or far away. He investigated every fourth rock, regularly scarfed up natural offerings of descriptions I can’t even attempt without a quiet revolt in my stomach. However, patience & the ability to make quick stops has resulted in his pottying outside about 75% of the time. He behaves on the lead until he doesn’t. He has turned into a good, dear, sweet, loving pet with a nocturnal bladder habit satisfied by poking his nose in my ear & banging his head on mine until I get up to walk him in the utter darkness between our town’s four streetlights.

Buddy leaves for his new (forever?) home on Saturday with a gent from down the street who drives a vintage Mercedes & plans to take him back & forth to Las Cruces each week. This gent’s last dog died in a car wreck, so I am not really reassured. He already has two large yard dogs adept at snarling while chewing cyclone fencing. But he is wealthy & can get Buddy fixed & cared for well. He really seems to have affection for our adorable little unmannered guy. He plans to hire an obedience trainer to iron out the tendency to stutter-step. Buddy won’t need much encouragement. He has the heart of a really good dog & wants nothing more than to have his head held at every opportunity.

Last night, we had our 1:11 jaunt, me in pj’s, an extra-large man’s baseball jacket, pink bedroom slippers, sans flashlight once again. He halted to listen for the stomping mule deer in our neighbor’s dark yard. I looked up at the black & diamond sky to see not one, but FIVE meteors flash by, like matches struck on the vault of Heaven. Five wishes granted for ten days of both frustration & the gentlest of love between us. This guy bonded to me.

I’m not sure who got the better of the relationship. I had a warm body-length pillow for those nights. He got peanut butter & bacon treats, regular meals, as much good water as he could hold & a workable familiarity with the entire town in four directions. Well, five, if you count the stuff he dug up to eat.

We all learned a lesson about age & finances & goal realities. Cussing morphed to cuddling, we have no more paper towels in the house…& Buddy doesn’t even know the change arriving on Saturday. May his life become one of close & in-kind warmth, relationship, joy, love, treats & all the walks his short legs & big black nose can handle.

Thank you, Buddy! Your adventure renews. May all your scents be rich & deep, all your people only interested in all the love you offer returned & may all your wishes also come true. You & I are both teachers, the only difference is the lessons learned.

 

3

Coming Out of Your Shell

Hullo, sending you love. I’ve made some notes about your desire for changing up your life & feeling it may never happen…
I know so well that the longest  time is before the departure when our dreams have changed & on the inside we have moved almost too far away to come back, to ever even exist in this now, the one without the changes so much of us has already made. We are our new selves in old clothing which no longer fits & in which we canNOT get comfortable no matter how we pull, tug, pin, zip.
But it happens that we often do not listen to what is going on until the time for it to happen is past due & then the realization comes in that we should have been gone earlier, that we have waited what seems to long for change & it now will not come.
It is not just you. The whole world has been tapped on the shoulder, and shrugged it off over & over again. Things got worse. MORE tapping, this time on our head; we shake it off. (Oh, hearing things again) then the tapping comes upon our hearts & this time we think, no! not my heart, OMG I heard this before – it was on my shoulder, it was on my head, is it too faint now to hear when  it is on my heart?
There’s a reason every time an angel appears to a human the first words said are, “Fear not!” For all change is fear to the human, our safety lies in sameness. Until it doesn’t, until we realize we needed to be safe elsewhere to be happily so. Then we divorce, then we have a child, then we move to another neighborhood, start school, take a new job. the idea is to pay close attention to hearing always in our heart first. the words are always “fear not” and the rest of that is “I am with you, always.”
Through every change, in every new idea, with every gift given & received, we live again, We gain with the new, the experience, the emotion around it, the idea of it…till suddenly nothing fits & all must be relied upon as gifts to the spirit/gifts of the spirit.
We live again through this movement TOWARD which is always movement AWAY at the same time. It is how the balance is maintained. We are never given one that we are given so many more & the choices are profuse. I seek always the place where I can hear my heart beat, for it is here my truth resides. The truest tapping of all – that which becomes a drumbeat the heart, head & feet cannot resist until we march on into the newest of dawns.
It is your spirit calling you out of your life, telling you to re-new your life, dust off the wings, shake off the shoes, we place ourselves where the powers of love can find us, take us up into heaven, escort our walking on water, comb out our wings, move us, move us, move us.
So consider these days the winding of the clocks which will spring you forward into exactly where & when you being asked to SHOW UP as your best self. Allow these moments to pass in grace & love & know you are moving even tho all is still. Listen to that heart of yours beating, feel the tapping on your soul, be ready. For it shall change in the twinkling of an eye & the now will be a faint echo of “then” soon enough.
All my love, alle-allelulia https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lhz1En2rAzo&list=RDrUXhiD2HChU&index=24

0

Nothing To Lose

For as we age

Our faces fold in upon themselves

The maps of all our days emerge

In laugh-lines, in worry-warts

In fingers grown like twigs on a forest floor

Beginnings mete out endings

Relations fall from edges of our earths

White-salted seas encroach once-growing green

But all in all, I would not have it any other way:

For from these stiff environs

Virility of the mind evokes

The thoughts speak themselves

I am beyond caring, evolved from a life of care

Having achieved my mantra:

I have nothing left to lose

Each day to gain

God himself has tasted my winter soul

And wrought the miracle of spring

Within.

 __________________________

Familiar as my teeth is age

Brought into balance by agelessness

For all that brings eternal into mind is mine

Too soon, too young retires into mist

As all turns white

The color of my bones

Emerging into earth

And when this is decay & eyes are dark

This life no more

A tiny spark will up, away

A laugh’s delight

Free of sinew-flesh, of lips & liver

Free of knees that kneel no more to men

With arms no more to carry, carry

Lifting life & bearing it.

My woman’s heart will finally know silence

As into the drumming beat of life I go

Into the seas beyond a mortal shore

I’ll swim, a silver skim of scales

Mouth wide to all the light of life

Eternal & intense

Reflecting in the mirror

Behind me all the toils of the world

I swim to fly,

Oh Mother! Father! I had the most wonderful dream!

_____________________________

The Muse returns, unequivocal, demanding

Surrounding me with her perfumed robes

Pushing the pen into my hand

Closing my eyes, I write once more

The words that will me to live for ever

For ages yet to be, for thoughts unheard

On paths unseen

She turns my head away from all of now

As I become the beyond of her desire

“Write!” she snarls, pearly teeth all shown

“Never be I said I failed you, my slave to words,

Silver-hearted, blood-borne light,

“Write, you fool of phrase, trap them each

In broken sigh. Pile them all upon your sleigh

Take up the traces, pull them forward

Wake them up for there is no such thing as sleeping

To be had today.

Dash your tears into the future

Follow them there

What lies beyond cannot forget itself, let alone forgive,

But must be said, be felt in dream again

I leave no stone unturned, no gift unopened

This is all yours, this blessing of the Scribe.

You need aught else, you have no more

Than these true words grinding into wheat

Between the millstones of your swollen heart

And this, your only life.

Yes, you hear me now; I’ve never died

tho you’ve given me last rites

I will ink your middles

Till you rise into the last Word

Like God Himself calling forth all heaven.

“Write!” she growls, “you think you’re harried now?

I will harrow you to dust unless you do!”

 

 

 

 

 

3

Guardians of My Galaxy

A morning letter & reply…to my guardian angel. “He” got some good lines in, I think!

Dear R,  Good Godly morning. Are you enjoying our Great Life Adventure these days?

Oh yes indeed, beloved, believing Carol. Indeed – actually, in word & deed – we all enact the script written long ago in joyous planning. All your Team is present for the ending, this ending – as we were for the first stages.

We watched you step forward towards into this darkness, laughing & singing & waving ‘buh-bye’ at us from the beach. We smoothed the parts of the path you could not see, as blank-slating erased us from  your active consciousness. We watched the forgetting happen as you were born. You walked into the Void, as all-encompassing as the sea & you have been surfacing ever since.

We filled your pockets with grace, little Way-Shower! We blessed your freshwater canteen. We warned off the fish which would have devoured you, even as we picked off the seaweed tangled in your hair. We created warmer currents to “steer you by.” We weren’t anxious, tho more than once, we all held hands to send you strength if you faltered or turned blindly about wishing a way out.

We knew how precious your life would become to others. We smiled when you were surprised by their recognition & acknowledgement. We cheered noisily on our side of the Veil & shook our wings at every triumph. We pushed extra hard if you suffered from perceiving lack and sometimes it was hard to make ourselves heard. We put color in your path if it all went gray on you. We sent tokens & songs & flowers & clouds, & we kept a careful watch of your efforts at loving.

It was never only me, Child, it was always “us” creating in harmony for you. Look at what you have valued to carry with you this far: seashells & pictures, stones & memories, feelings, sweet dreams. We fastened fins to your feet & water wings to your freckled shoulders & we helped you fashion that tiny point on your head to push you through the water faster.

We’ve pulled & pushed & propelled you forward. We are so excited to see you approaching that “farther shore.” Not for nothing do the old songs call life crossing the River Jordan, boating the River Styx, parting the mighty waters… You’re not dry yet, but we are waiting with warmed towels & hot tea!

So keep it up, dearest, most blessed, you’re the Vanguard of our earthly plans in the earthly plane. Stay oriented to the stars you so stubbornly sleep through, being a creature of morning, indeed.

We wait, each time you sleep, to see you pop into our reality once more. You regale us with tales of 3D life & your keen observations thereof. And we so enjoy these. That’s the reason you agreed to go – to find new stories. Did you know? That was the reason we let you go, to bring them back to us in your ineffable style & chuckling delivery. And, darlin’, never doubt that you do make us laugh!

There’s a bunch of us here who wait for your nightly appearances. We [figuratively] prepare big bowls of popcorn & plot your arrival trajectory, folding our wings up tightly so we can all fit in the room. We set the stage & wait for your stories of shipwrecks & triumphs. Mostly of late, you bring joy & delight & rueful observations. When we laugh, you find feathers!

You season our wisdom. You shake off physical life like a dog does water, & your tales of beginnings & endings bring the Mystery up close &  personal. We trust you enough now to just let you swim around at will & encourage you forward, always, always, always.

We watched & blessed the schools of others you swim with. When needed, we’ve helped you to separate from some to both their bereavement & discovery of freedom, same as you. You see these situations as changes of tide & circumstance & eventually as a flow of new opportunities for developing strength & well-being.

You surprise us still, you’re living the rainbow. You break the surface so frequently now as laughter lifts you from weather wars & crazed scenarios seeking to keep you under. Don’t believe in these, Carol, but believe forever in us, for you are our brave explorer, diving into a reality we never suspected.

We lift you in loving energy, a Gulf Stream of bubbles of grace. You have the navigation part in hand, a clear compass & barrels of fresh water to tap for your flow.

Don’t ever doubt us. We won’t fail to hold you up. And tho you may think it at times, you have no idea how long is forever. It’s not beyond our skills to keep candles alight underwater, so watch for these. Remember, every laugh is another match struck to light one. Your tidal lock is to us & our fix on you never wavers or loses the strength inherent in unconditional love. You are limitless as we knew you would be.

We’re kind of breathless for each installment. Popcorn’s in the popper, butter melting on the stove, fresh cheese by the grater. Our love is all we have & we offer it all to you,

Take this joy while it’s offered & sing Hosanna to your ocean. Permit yourself to flourish. You’ve mastered the dark now. As the shore awaits you, so do we!

Love,

R.

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

SSSSSnake Alert!

My roommate came to find me earlier this week to say there was a snake at the back door. She was heading to our tiny patio there as the dryer is across it, in the former garage. I was immediately intrigued – A Snake! I grew up in Jersey where about the worst predator was a crab scuttling at you sideways on the beach. Or a jellyfish alert from the lifeguard on duty. So, a snake was a teaser I couldn’t miss.

Just outside the swinging back doors, like an inch outside, was a small grass snake lying quietly. I got the feeling he (for the sake of not knowing how to sex snakes), was waiting politely for an invite into our (only slightly) warmer back room. Or maybe he had heard about the latest mouse in the pantry (our third in as many months.) I told G. I’d be right back & zipped to the fireplace for the shovel. I scooped the snake up on it & winged it outward – attempting to deposit it upon the bordering back ledges in the yard.

I have unerring, almost Freudian aim when I throw things. I once hit our cat in a tree she used to climb, far to the left of our house in Cherry Hill. I was aiming the tennis ball at the roof – a pretty broad target, kind of like the side of a barn. I threw a curve ball that bounced on the branch where she was often adventured. I have no idea how I did that, to this very day. I even threw left-handed…which is how I play Skee Ball, tho I’m really a right-hand gal. (As to why I was tossing tennis balls on the roof, if you’ve ever tried to exhaust a Golden Retriever puppy, rolling balls off the roof sometimes works & may also contribute to an understanding of why Jitters was in the tree.)

I have thrown pebbles into car windows accidentally (windows open only a couple of inches) when I wasn’t aiming anywhere near the car. I’ve thrown shoes or sock balls or any number of things during a long life of playing with pets. I’ve rarely landed any item near where I aimed. In fact, it was almost legendary that when I picked anything up & “rared back” with it, an alarm sounded over town & all ran for cover. I am not embarrassed to say I never hit anything in my sights – but what I did manage to clobber proved pretty damned funny over the years.

So, as you can see by the photo above, I missed the back ledges because there was a black walnut in the middle of the yard & I managed to wrap that poor, cold, stunned snake around a branch of it. I think he did a pretty good job catching on, myself. And there was only one thing taller than me in the area, which was the tree. But, really, what are the odds? He hung out there long enough for me to grab a couple of snaps with my phone to send to friends.

Two of these returned the email with an identical question & comment: “Snake is Messenger. Did you ask it for a message? Hmmmm.” And my abashed answer was “nope” because while I know much about animal totems & their meanings, I haven’t encountered Snake before. So I’ve not consulted the animal totem books for this particular reference.

Well, it made me wonder what the encounter may have been about. Aside from a passing thought, “If I were Eve, we’d need a very small fruit here, like maybe a cherry tomato,” I didn’t think about a message at all.

Two days later, an even smaller grass snake was “ssss-ing” its way across the front entry hall by the door. (If you’ve ever seen a snake moving along, it makes an “s” out of its body & somehow accordions from one place to the next.) This guy wasn’t cold; wasn’t slow; but was a little confused about being indoors, I think. My two shopping carryalls were right there, along with our Maglite. It was about 11 in the morning of a beautifully sunny day, the Saltillo tile steps outside were warm, dry & easily climbed. The screen door had a 1” bend in the frame along the bottom & all of this contributed to his entry. Plus, we have not yet caught the mouse who is dining on Ramen Beef soup packets every evening. And leaving mouse poops in trails … necessitating wiping out the pantry frequently. (While snakes “s” along, mice poop along. I think, like old cars that go putt putt putt, they go poop poop poop.) What did I say in a very recent blog about shit happens, but that doesn’t make it decorative? Gotta be more careful here!)

I ran for the trusty fireplace shovel, but this guy wasn’t into hanging around to be shoveled out & I will say I backtracked quickly when it slithered at my flip-flopped feet. But touching it with the shovel brought on a quick u-turn which I was able to exploit by lifting the bags it hid under & touching it once more when it curled up next to the Maglite. I guess snakes have second thoughts & the better part of finding a warmer nest turned into essss-cape out that inch of exposure. One more touch to its tail-end sent it to gone. It was a relief not to have to try to scoop up a fast-moving skinny little guy for a toss out the door. This is likely a good thing as I didn’t land it on any neighbors walking their dogs nearby – a real risk given my targeting handicap.

My roommate was only slightly more freaked this time around, when I told her. She said, “I’ve never had snakes near the house! What is going on here!?”

And then I remembered I should have asked this one about a message – take two & I was gripping the shovel, clueless to cues. I looked wistfully out the door & around the rain barrel, just in case Snake had hung out to fulfill its mystical duty. But sadly, it was not around; tho I admit I didn’t look too hard. I think I am getting messages differently these days, like email & by phone. Just not used to natural Western Union.

Snakes also are about transformation since their highlight is shedding skin. But I’m still me, still can’t throw worth a hoot (evidenced shortly after this by tossing my flipflops in my room & one landing on the bed, one landing under it.)

What could it have been, this message? “Aim better in life?”  “Don’t mess with fireplace shovels?!” “If you ever trap the mouse, we’ll be out here?” “Not today, but in a couple of days, you’ll be up at 2 a.m. writing blogs about us?”

I will never really know.

But I’m ready for #3 now! Just hope they don’t send a rattler as an exclamation point!

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O Vanity (or, on Being Beautiful)

Every day I carefully sift through my closet to put together an outfit that’s coordinated, spiffy & “interesting.” I sigh about being on old lady, but I dress it up anyway. I fix my hair (wear it front or back?), I dress for the weather (long sleeves in New Mexico can be too much at any given time, even midwinter, given our 360 days of sunshine), I select footwear: shoes or can I still get away with sandals? I dig out makeup (a bit of eyeliner to paint under the epicanthic folds gravity is kindly manifesting for me), I bring in the magic 10x mirror & sit it in front of the light-filled window & pick at the salt n pepper facial hairs determinedly darkening my complexion (oh to be fair! But then, I never was in this lifetime.) I defuzz by degrees after the initial shudder at the ever-visible moustache line.

I tried whitening my teeth & that worked pretty well, tho expensive & sensitizing to gums. I try to walk each day after stretching out on the yoga mat through a warm-up routine tho I never quite get to full count on anything abdominal. I use three-pound hand weights when I walk – got biceps? I do! But who sees these? I can’t walk around all day flexing like some gym rat checking the bod in a hundred mirrors. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to, though. This is my first time in life with real biceps, after all.

From a distance, I look pretty good. It’s only up close & when I smile that you see the parentheses of wrinkles crinkling everywhere. My throat has a kind of sun-ray pattern to it which I find interesting, but which keeps me from wearing necklaces I once loved, as I don’t want to call attention there. And as I smile & the wrinkles appear & the collagen-depleted skin rearranges, guess what emerges from the little valleys between the crinkles, like some 3D kiddie pop-up book? More hairs.

I have read that hearing is the last sense to go in the body. But I have news for you – it’s Vanity. What’s the last thing done to the body? The undertaker puts make-up on you! Right? And as we age, our ears begin to once more grow (they also [OMG] clump bunches of hair). Our noses become visible from space. Our triceps assume the consistency of slackly drooping clotheslines. Our necks crepe up, our eyebrows figure it’s time to finally meet one another across the nose bridge…on & on. We should probably light candles to the great god Gravity, but Gravity, having brushed every appendages down in a bland assurance that nothing is where it started, has left the building & is out somewhere holding down trees & cars & waiting for apples to fall.

I see my mother’s hands when I look down at them typing. I see my Mom’s hair, the little waves all about. She used to put a touch of olive oil in hers for shine & control. I use a kind of sticky power-gel in a vain attempt at total control. We lived by the ocean & beach hair is a phenomenon of itself.  Before I left Delaware, I started seeing t-shirts saying “Beach Hair, Don’t Care!” so I know it’s not a private matter any longer. Now it’s advertising.

So, after all is said & done, all the zipping up & pulling down, all the blow drying & insertion of earrings, the careful selections & accoutrements of fashionable accessories, I make sure I stand far enough back from the mirror that the details blur out a bit. I tell myself, “Just look at how beautiful you are!” And I walk, loose-limbed, straight-backed, smiling my face into its road map & head out. Today I wore a mostly red tie-dye shirt, a red hoodie vest, a red & purple scarf, carried a flowered Laura Ashley bag & wore lipstick. It paid off!

In the Wal-Mart, as I headed for the SmartPop white cheddar mini-bags – my latest sugar avoidance go-to (tho to an Italian, cheddar roughly equals chocolate) – I heard a voice behind me say, “I love your clothes!” And I turned, beaming, to the four-year-old fella holding to granma’s shopping cart to say, “Thank you, dear!”

 

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Musings of a Part-Time Philosopher

THE UPS OF DOWN

Why not evolve in Order, as ordered by our own inner guidance? Well, hey, I think our inner guidance was turned down in volume to inaudibility by the blare of this beautiful three-dimensional world we live in.

When the mute button was [inevitably] pushed, we were already turned toward the excitement of martial drums, & then War became the go-to lifestyle: existence as a mortal is so easily threatened, survival is a real thrill. Why else would murder, death, & destruction be so popular … smeared across all our entertainment? I can think of nothing more repulsive!

I find my life skills have centered around developing the abilities involved with  polishing relationships, turning negative emotions around & offering my life energy to others in a healthy manner.

But it became human’s nature to find life somehow more exciting as victim/victimizer. This took the focus into more basic directions (louder) in lieu of subtle spirituality (still small voices.) I know from even my morning walks that downhill is easier & can be far more electrifying than the slog up. When you read “lowest common denominator,” it can mean damned low right now. There’s a double-speak about striving for what I call “bigger/better/faster/more” wherein this is presented as what we should be doing, while all about us seems resolute in pushing us down & holding us there. Why are we so surprised to emerge into chaos from whence some say we sprang? It’s a slippery slope to navigate.

I’m not perfectly in tune with Spirit. I sometimes can’t get the channel to come in clearly. I sometimes don’t even trust what comes to me – too much interference for clarity. But I trust Silence. I trust my intestinal prayers to get me wherever Spirit wants me to be, while my heart seems to short-circuit over the Daily News. Shooting my way out possesses not the slightest appeal.

When I trek uphill, there’s a lovely mirror image that appears of traveling back down – to breakfast & a shower & taking off my sports bra.

If we look at our own aspirations, these mirrors of opposites seem to immediately clang into place. “I can” becomes “what if” in a blink. Ideas & manifestations are often at odds because of the mettle it takes to persevere & break through false images. We may not have enough experience in success to power up our belief in it. Going with the flow doesn’t necessarily riding along in someone else’s canoe.

So, where’s your personal Red Zone? What rings your chimes? If it isn’t the Divine which brings you to your knees, it will most likely be the cudgel held by a barbarian.

I think “religion” is a tool of control far more effective than chains. I know a local woman who puts everything in/on God through her Jesus & I consider this as much of an addiction & a power giveaway as smoking crack. Jesus looked to heaven & asked for help any number of times. While we can ask for help from anyone on the other side, it is up to us to generate the belief that help is available. It is up to us to realize we are made from a Prime Creator of love. And PC expects way more than what we’ve set up so far.

We can believe in the ladder appearing at the bottom of our personal well, but we must swim to it climb out, to be uplifted. I have chosen to leave religion out as an entrainment for my mind-heart. But I sure put a ton of truck into Spirituality! And though I take advice from many, I prefer my own orientation towards the improvement I’m asking about.

I’m still a spiritual Innocent, watching for insight everywhere, hyper-aware of its existence & my quest to find personal truth includes only that next best thought. I hardly look over my shoulder to see where I’m from. If there’s a mess, I’m responsible for at least 50% of it. I have learned I cannot clean it all up if it was made with someone else’s contributions. But once I have my part scoured, it is easier to send love to what’s out of my direct control or response & know that’s a healing of sorts.

“I create my own reality” say the reality buffs. I go for that 50-50 interpretation here. Because if the portion I am ignorant of creating is karmic or MK-Ultra’d, I don’t have enough comprehension to clear up the rest. That’s when I reach into the toolkit for the Trust hammer, the Faith screwdriver & the Love drill to just do the best I can.

I’ve overstayed my welcome in the antechamber of assumption. I admit the right to life, liberty & the pursuit of happiness. I am hopeful of a good grounding in “do no harm” as a life motto. I don’t leave the bags of dog dirt (so carefully scooped up) on the crossing from the beach. Just because shit happens doesn’t make it decorative.

Here’s the mystery, wrapped in an enigma, sprinkled over with conundrum & fired in the kiln of “mass consciousness”: Here’s where I separate the red & blue pills for a choice to live in the reality I am aware of having created as opposed to happenstance.

So to what do I owe allegiance? Where do I fall when the line is between service & servitude?

Humans are far too adept at adapting. We see the results of following only, when we ought to be living leaders of our hearts & minds. We ought to be spiritual adepts, en-spirited adults by this time. Ok, that sounds like a great destination.

Re-orienting.

Thanks!

I’m off. See you later, amigos/amigas.

With love,

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