Category: Musings

Who’s to tell me what’s possible?

I don’t think I know anyone who’s in charge anymore. This is now mine but I’ve disowned it before, effectively, too. It’s too clearly defining to try to pass along this one now.

What if I’ve had a bucket list going since the beginning, I just didn’t know it then? If everything has happened to me in the right place at the right time eliciting the right emotional ringtone and I answered? What? Did I do something wrong?

I wonder where I’d be if the word ‘better’ had been erased from my life. I was always compared to that. It made life longer somehow. It’s a can’t-win word. Likely not the first of its kind I encountered.

I do feel the groundswell of a major change oncoming. If tech has been kept a hundred years out from us – a generous idea – how far behind am I anyway? If my generation has iPhones, they have telepathy for sure. But theirs isn’t to be considered mine anymore.  

Forging the next path is all i can see now. There’s absolutely no time to look behind me, not for followers, not for the ones who didn’t – like parents & siblings who led the way, leaving me on my own. They think of me now – like it was 100 years ago they were here.

And I still don’t care. I’m still the same stubborn child with crossed eyes & chewed fingers, the same electric-strange hair & attitude. Just because I’ll never catch up, I am not stopped from moving on. Just because I don’t even know where or when I’m going … I am not stopped from moving on.

It’s all trivialities. It’s all a moment on the beach, that perfect moment 100 years ago when there was nowhere else to be.

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Once More Into the Breach

People sometimes say they are a “product” of their times. What does that really make us? Who produced us? What’s the role of a producer? Telling an actor how to act. Wait a minute, this is getting complicated & I was trying to make it simpler.

For years I have used the tools I was given to engineer my life. However, I’m not a “tools” kind of gal. I joke all the time about my “Hello Kitty” plastic tool kit being all I’ll ever need… I’ve listed it before on the blog, in a kind of wonder – how did I survive on my own with only this to repair it? The toolkit was always an admonition of guilt: I can’t do this; time to ask for help. At the risk of assuring the “in” in “inept,” I never got the hang of driving in a nail, or hanging a picture straight. So that meant hanging it twice, which was really four times the trouble when I gathered my head around it. I’ve enlisted the help of tall people all the time – in stores, where I will approach a total stranger (who’s tall) to ask him to get me a jar of something on the top shelf. I wrote the lists: my ex used to ask strangers to read them for him; then they would speculate on what the little lady really wanted. Going to the store, for him, with one of my scribbled lists, must have been like Frodo walking out of the hobbit-house with the Ring in his inside pocket.

We never know the ripples downstream from where we stir the water.

Tools bring up an immediate physical reaction in me: I put my hands behind my back. I don’t even touch them.

I’ve done this with my life a few times too. I’ve always opted to sail past the self-help section into sci-fi/fantasy, usually opted for the heroine I childishly & wonderfully pictured myself to be. The posturing & the great cloud of unknowing I resided in were a double-whammy to learning life by logic. Overall, I’m not quite sure there is a logic to life. Mine, for example, has been random at times to the point of writing the word ‘hopscotch’ to describe it. My resumes were chock-full of growing responsibilities in the work arena: would I have applied that energy to personal growth, I’d be running my own whatever. I left out the work of the tool-bearer completely.

But while I imagined living in a vacuum, it was never the case. I affected (afflicted?) any number of people over a lifetime of monetary focus: I chose currency as the currency to live by. At this point, there’s no use assigning a good or bad to it. Acknowledgements alone work as witness to the event. It was a choice I do not regret: I was funneled into it & it is still working in its own way.

When the writing pushes up between the cracks in my brain, when the truth of my ineffectuality is known on all levels but this: & I cannot know if it is even worthwhile except to me… ?

In fact, just like another fabulous & long-lasting analogy: if the tree falls in the forest with no one to hear it, does it make a noise? If everyone ignores all my writings meant to entertain, identify, belong with, enjoy manifestation with on this level … if no one reads me, do I exist?

I rely on the ripples.

Love,

Carol

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Where. From. Here?

If the focus on physical is no longer working, it is time to develop a new focus: to assume Creatorship, also referred to as Sovereignty (Over-reign) (reign over). But we can only claim it one at a time & only for ourselves.

We’re more comfortable in a blend: Some braid in with the “growing trend” folks, others with the “oats” crowd. Few want to figure it out beyond their acculturated worldview. But in the rush to experience, depth is lost. Actions are unplanned, results not thought-through. Such randomness bespeaks chaos.

It becomes more complex when language is corrupted into a coarse string of trigger words – language used to be safe once upon a time, a “safe space” place.

Welladay, it’s been that for me in my life. More so lately, as I take time to relish it.

I figure no less than embracing the Transcendent will work here. What’s your take on it? How did you ever put down the Cosmos you are created to bring in, to participate, to populate to this place of here & now? Or is that memory gone, too, like so many that surely were real when happening? Where did our childhoods go?

But what life has proved to me overall is its ephemerality. Yet it is all we know … this physical tag along, drag along body. But it was what we came in for: the reason we dug down into DNA to make most of it automatic, to free up Creativity. We came back in the Michelin Human Suit just to experience shedding the many outer, ephemeral bodies, peeling these away (repealing them). We can only do one body at a time as we uncover to the core (le Coeur). How many of us can get that naked? Even for our God? Yet what else is there to offer a  god?

I came into it without even a blanket to my name. A space was carved for me by Mom: her tunnel to happiness was where she led me to, knowing it a fallback if others failed. I wandered around the landscape for awhile, but in the end, stepped into its cool interior & felt my way along its walls.

I took the bit particularly hard, being Libra. In being “set up” by Mom & Society & growing up in a once-removed beach resort. (In casting back, I realize I’ve lived in resort settings all my life – a place to be when things are great, a place to be when there’s no way change is to be had, as in being at your “last resort.” I was a child in a resort many resorted to for recreation (re-Creation) of their ragtop to Cadillac rides, a return to the mainline after a time-out in Wildwood.

A resort-dweller is to be permanent amongst the fluctuating crowd: those who did not know the beach or the boardwalk as part of the neighborhood. We natives opted to watch  them carefully; we were truly small-town folk amongst the city-dwellers & mostly profoundly grateful for that largesse.

I may be off-track already. I wanted to tell you there’s ways to go no matter who you follow, but you’ll always find the steadiest track to be the one where you’re comfortable. Getting comfortable takes more strength than we are given credit for & usually unprepared around when events happen in our lives. Being or staying comfortable in the spaces of enormous change are why we strip away all else.

I live in a land blasted by light & by the irregularities that have happened here. Once again, it is ramping up behind me, breathing a certain fire to singe the hair on my ears. Once again, I turn to stand in it, to face it, to absorb it, to resort to light for my healing. So, tell me again, why do I need this body?

To feel the light?

(Thanks for watching. Love you, C)

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Becalmed by Light

Only I can turn poverty into reality. Where is my real wealth? I am spotting it in so many places now. Is this my Nesara? My recognition of self & other’s worth? Yes, certainly.

I no longer need put up with what I felt that way about. I no longer need to feel anyone is not nourishing me, nor wishing me well, even if misunderstood in their reality. Yesterday I said hello to four strangers sitting in the wine bar, each with a long-stem glass in right hand, poised around a face… these faces looked up at me, the ruder intruder burgeoning in to wish all well! Here’s the scoop: I was looking for a lovely friend, the owner; not only that, but I had cleaned the very chairs on which they were snobbing. I mopped the floors under their single-foot-legs-crossed poses.

I laughed to consider they would consider me a “rube” or whatever they call hill-people-strangers these days. Rube is the most polite…

I rejoiced in the sharp sunset light, the long, long shadows fanning the street. I celebrated the memory of living in this town, of being in many of the houses. I reveled in the thought that I had cleaned the entire Lady of Guadalupe R.C. church entirely on my own, reliving my childhood effectively, this time with permission to touch.

It was a very releasing day, yesterday. Empowering.

At the end of it, I wanted only to be in my own home, put away from everyone. After the time “home alone,” & plague, I am still sensitive of others nearby. Literally sensitive. My skin feels them & I am no longer accustomed to being seen.

Poverty is not living as well as I think I want to. Yet it isn’t giving things up either or, rather, seems to me to be. Until I have a recognition like yesterday’s, a review of/in the light, an attention-caller to what was my reality only four years ago.

Perhaps it has always been only change which is familiar. I am willing to change, but I want to do it my way, in my own time, in answer to my own questions. I’ve had enough freedom & done things my way pretty much. Is that not an untold wealth as valuable as any chest of rubies in a sea-cave?

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The Fade

There was a cleverer beginning to this, but it seems to have faded off in the time it took to boot up. I’m sure it will return & if it doesn’t, we’ll just make something up.

I was never one to enter morning by way of staying up all night. There were a limited number of these, I can perceive now, from this farther-along-the-timeline-perspective.  To do this now – to have what my friend calls a “creative overnight” to stimulate talent… Well, for me, this would be one tired following day during which I had energy only enough for systems on low power. Why would I do that these days? These days, when I find myself cherishing every action I take, even the pads of my fingers skimming the keyboard.

I tell people these are my last days, but I’ll tell you directly, that I am hoping they are. I will be here as long as agreed, but I was ever one to promise More. And grow restless at the end.

First the days got long, being locked down, being forced to face a direction I could hardly believe was coming into view. The alt news hosed me down with bracing hope each day. It all is happening behind the scenes. While I am not thinking it has fractionated beyond recovery, I am putting a lot of Trust into the Hope bag – discordant as deflating bagpipes – yet this is something I wrote years ago:

Faith is hope grown strong enough to hang your heart on.

When I emerge from this mask-maze, I understand This was not necessarily About That. Does that make sense? I feel my entire life has been only the product of a “look over here” complex practiced by master illusionists. I am freer, now, of the Stereopticon Life. I choose now to participate from a molecular level. I understand molecular experience to be my building block to knowledge, for knowledge will be all that is left aside from a bit of DNA here & there. But believe me, World, “they” don’t want to clone me. I have that for a flat fact.

I reside in the idea of now as it was made & meant to be lived; as I live it now, one pure moment at a time, attention to all, intention to some, joy like lights in a bottle, aglow around every detailed molecule.

How long I’ve sat on side rails, watching the entrained, entertaining world! But why would I make that into a query when the answer I really want questioned is “How much longer now?”

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Yet Another Morning

I think I’m always a bit surprised to still be here. In a time of earnest, jolting change, as new outer vibrations appear in the airwaves, some of us elect to slip away in the dark.

The cricket sings at my front door, his tiny serenade silencing as the light grows. In the backyard, the morning glory sends up heart-shaped green leaves, still low to the rocks on the ground, but ready to send a study little climber to support its opening – each flower as delicate as the vine will be tough.

Each year this morning glory returns, tenacious & lovely. In this dull corner of a stony yard, along an old cyclone fence, a wisp of brown-dry dessication renews utterly. How deep are these roots?

In my neighbor’s messy yard, slowly filling with real junk, a dead washer, a used-up barbecue or two, the above “volunteer” soared to stand in our bright sun after unusual rainfall. All over town, real sunflowers sun-worship. This year there are few bees to worship them in turn, no furry legs tickling their petals. Strange to think of a sunflower being lonely, isn’t it? Their periscope flowers search all day for sun-borne bees.

Whether we’re on a planet or a flatland, the Earth is an inescapable backdrop. Life is brought to bear & bear down hard at times. We make a mockery of it & a mercy to leave it. We live, we launch, we seek those horizons to peer beyond. We subside again to Earth & we grow.

I write. I cook. I love. I pray. Every season I come up with new thoughts even hanging onto an old yard fence, sending these ever upward to blossom as they will.

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Rainy Sunday

I am just thinking how life changes happen. In my early years I didn’t much like the self I was. Now I make up for that by valuing myself & my decisions.

I only learned this through tolerance & learning to love others. There are so many experiences I have had & will have – each one a re-shaping as each added to the original clay or took a chunk out when even a fingernail’s worth is noticeable.

I want to share now, after years of holding close, but with this being such a habit, can I even do so? I have equal bouts of handing over & clutching to my chest. I think, tho, I am now more likely to give, because when I think I will & do not, I am unhappy with myself for missing the chance to have done.

This is an enormously healing observation. I know many whose generosity exceeds mine. For my thinking (which used to be more insular) tells me practical pointers. My impulse engine that fires up the jets; however, always tells me to lighten the load.

I have too much air element & not enough water right now. I fill up on tumbleweed thoughts. Even the jumble is a coded message. Don’t think it hasn’t taken years of training to leave the mess alone. You didn’t know that gawky little girl, that mis’able kid sister, that unhappy wife fighting 20th century war with paleolithic weapons.

Regardless, I’m still the outsider/observer. These are such simple interactions to take part in, not to take apart.

I allow my spirit to pause in the quest long enough for Divine to find it in the all-I-do.

Amen.

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Human Kindness Undoes Old Woman

A man was tender with me today. He asked how I was with a tiny tilt to his head & intelligent eyes. I barked my usual, “Super!” & echoed the question.

I barely know how to react to original kindness, authentic inquiry. My heart has set up ramparts of glass & settled in behind, keeping watch.

That moment unlocked a faraway memory – holding hands. Which led to memories of sitting closely together, resting in each other. The love I have now is a pac-man thing…its jaws are always working, devouring any scrap of regard. These memories are in a tidal lock to my soul – they face one way, their dark side never revealed.

I’ve become one of the guys for the most part, taking my turn at the end of the line after the alpha males.

When I say something, everyone wants to resolve it for me. “Have you tried…?” is a favorite, or “You know what works for me is …”Sometimes I just want to say something & rest in another’s reply. I don’t want to be sent to the store or the website or the next room for panacea. How about you listen & nod instead? It’s not like I haven’t already researched what they are telling me as the ideas are seldom new. Perhaps simple communication is all that’s on the table, or across it.

To be undone by simple regard makes me sad. There were those who fought for me, riding white horses into battle or placing a shield firmly between me & trouble. i would pull a handkerchief from my lacy sleeve & wave gratefully. Then the world changed; maybe I should say my world changed. I had to be ready at all times to thrust the masculine of me up front, take it on the chin, get another job, do it ALL which rapidly became metronomic & a condition to be borne rather than a defensive maneuver.

I make only the smallest repairs; my skills with a tool kit amount to finding a place to hide it until I need to look for a connector. My finest hours have come with the Duct Tape Final Solution. I can’t drive a straight nail, hell, I can barely manage a pushpin.

I wrote a poem called “At My Age” about falling in love. It’s buried deeply in the files. That says it all.

I can peer over the walls, but won’t fit across the drawbridge.

I need, perhaps, to tuck my heart into a Faraday Cage, forget unexpected kindness, rub my eyes & see what appears when I stop.

How is it fashioned? Did I give up on dreaming or did dreams give up on me?

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disintigrating with Distinction

I used to go out in the world in the morning, braced, like Rocky Balboa on the Philadelphia Museum of Art steps… Chest heaving, head dripping, I was beyond ready for my world.

Too bad I didn’t have this exact attitude at those times in my life. It’d been a lot more fun. But it was pretty good, as it was. Looking over my shoulder didn’t get me any real perspective. There is a Spiritual Review going on here & I’m not sure I remember signing up for it, but like some seminar you do not attend & then receive 68 emails about from every teacher who welcomed your attendance… Intent is the better part of something, but I’m not thinking valor these days.

Again, with Time. I have been dying to use this analogy somewhere & this blog is it: when I was once in Rome, I went to a set of famed hanging gardens. I was wearing cute little comfy flats (nothing to stop the skid.) I set foot upon the charmingly indented steps, slippery with only age, worn smooth meeting smooth shoes & somehow I skied down those steps & remained upright & whole & cute. It’s like my new job.

In my new job, I am required to track time once again after months of paying lip service to clocks & calendars & yet time is implied (get this done timely) instead of appointed (by 3 today.)

After all, the lockdowns were my first time not tracking time & almost nuclear in effect on me. I have always accounted for my time. In return I asked a valuation for that, something with cost-of-living built in. This corporate structure has disappeared into a fluid connective made of cyber-interstitial tissue. That ‘We Are All Connected’ Coke’ commercial takes on a whole new dimension when cyber or meta is looped in to be employed as an end run. (By folks you thought were on your side.)

Because time as I knew it lifelong – at the attention level it once demanded, is no more.

We knew coming in it wasn’t going to be easy. When I’d get that lump in my throat in other times, I recognized it for Original Fear – my original sin. I used to say if I picked up every stone I tripped over, I’d soon be unable to even walk. Wisdom & optimism lurk in fortune cookies.

I’m thinking now I got this. I’m thinking I’ve been doing it pretty well but nowhere else in this God’s Goddess-blessed world would be the place to emerge from whole except bearing truth or consequences equally cheerfully. Turns out life’s in Invitational. RSVP with love.

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So Satisfied I’m On My Way …

Get going in the right direction. Which one is that? What is right currently? The basics have even shifted a couple of notches & when the directions change, which is right?

I guess it’s the one you’re in. it’s that “being in the present” thing. I can’t give you specific proof of my memories. Oh, maybe put you in touch with the Akashic Records, soon as I find the remote.

In a world where there is so much influence to remove us from basic cues on how to live in the world, I feel I have come through that particular (particulate?) tunnel. I see a lot more relationships. Many have sad stories to tell; they beg your appreciation. But my feelings may not align with sadness, tho my heart is capable of doing so. It seems my heart is capable of so many more things than I had ever thought.

Every day the most elusive of thoughts swims by, rare items never to appear again to me. I’d love to capture these. Often I am so certain I will remember I surrender them immediately. They disappear, torn apart by the fabric of my coherence being greeted by the growling world which needs these words. I am happy to have surrendered them as I know they will be encountered – one at a time.

 I love hearing a thought I have already thought. It unites me into engagement like a cell receptor key activates its charge.

My answers won’t really work for anyone else anyway. They’ll have to tweak them to get them to fit…thrust out a leg or something to line it up. They will do whatever it takes if they are inclined to think a new thought. Out here new thoughts move polka-dot out from the center. They move with  you & can, at times, bombard you with otherness of translation. For these, you need not engage the brain, indeed, the brain is too disconnected up there, preoccupied with brainy things; many times reactions are pushed down in the system. If they get below the heart, the real brain, events can take on & emit so much more energy.

Well, don’t stumble up any stairs on my replay. I am amazed to have touched you. I live in an unlikely town at an unlikely time. Eternity spreads her skirts & invites me to sit to watch, or at least send a representative to do that, while all journeys continue toward the Center of the Spiral. Take with you only that which will ruthlessly serve your unfoldment.  

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