Anatomy Lesson

The cat living with my roommate was born a twin. They came to this house together. From what I can gather, the kittens were named Pinky & Blue. But Blue took insult to a slammed door & wandered down the road to live with Cactus Jim. Pinky has blossomed.

Blue went missing two weeks ago from his adoptive home. He was the kind of cat cars stopped for: a peach-point Siamese. He was super-social so he would begin a conversation with everyone from a little distance away, meowing louder as he approached for a greeting.

When I lived at the motel, he often walked across the parking lot to where I was seated outside. He’d jump into my lap & settle for about three minutes. If my  door was open, he would wander through the tiny studio & wait by the back door to exit. I enjoyed his visits & his comments…

I was thrilled to move in with his brother!

Pinky, or as I call him, Couscous, (which is what I call all cats as I like its sibilance), has undergone a sea change. I believe a bit of Blue has taken up residence. The cat suddenly wants to cuddle at every opportunity. Usually, Pink was outside from post-breakfast to pre-dinner under our neighbor’s rosebushes. Now he hangs around beyond the door for a couple of minutes to see if I’m following him out with a coffee. Sometimes he will walk out the door & turn around, coming back in when I do not follow him out.

Unlike his nocturnal wanderings of a month ago, he stays indoors most of the night curled up with me. I am so grateful; I have wanted a cat for many years & I love being singled out by him. He is getting used to kisses atop his head, but rather likes his chops kneaded more.

He is an outside cat, & quite the hunter. Two nights ago, Pink brought me a baby bunny body. It was placed ceremoniously on my rag rug in the bedroom. The inner organs were clean & arranged together in the center of the tripartite display; the fur (complete with ear) & right side up, was beside these, about two inches away, also placed carefully. Another bundle of something huddled on the left side. There were no fluids involved. Now, to get this into the house, Pinky had to bring it through his cat window one piece at a time.

The precision of placement of each piece amazed me. I was not disgusted, or upset. (The bunnies have been overproductive this summer, which brings out rattlers.) I am honored to be the receiver of these gifts. I have asked “my people” to talk to “his people” about not bothering to bring more food.

I burned white sage over the remains & thanked the kit for being willing to do ceremony with me. I thanked it for being a sacrifice for love.

Light-Riders

Above: If grass can grow through cement, love can find you!

So have faith in what you do. You agreed to be where you are. You shouldered what you are doing. Keep your eyes on the future, know that it exists, hold the space for it to happen gracefully & in its own time. Be a child, link your hands with those of the ascended beings who chose you, in all the world, to work with. Honor their trust & enlighten your world with the light they shine on you alone. Even if you have an audience of one & it is yourself, feel your work to be of such worth that the world will never see the like again.

Find your joy & swim around in it, get all wet’n’wild with it; never let it go. Bend time to your will for it is indeed malleable & willing to become the basket in which you place your most valued possessions. Volunteers don’t get to choose. Theirs is only to DO.

You are not of this planet; stop trying to think you can be an earthling. Accept who you are, faults, flaws, perfections & transcendences all together. Know that whoever sees your work benefits from it. If you are faithful to that which is your joy, if you remove ego from it, if you treat each speck of energy as tho it lights the torch the world will see by, you do it rightly.

Have the faith & trust in what you do – both your Lightworker duties and your Worldly ones. When you simply “Know That,” you pave the way for all to happen in the future. It may not be happening in this timeline. You may be fueling another, or setting up a future incarnation when you’ll be the one everyone looks to.

Love yourself, darlin’, it could be so different. Once you relax & stop two-stepping, you’ll make more steady forward progress. I know this to be true. I know pigs can’t fly, I know I don’t like flying very much, I know heights make me uncomfortable, but I also know with the same breath that I am a sylph in a peasant’s sturdy worker body, that I do fly every time I make a wish or see a star, that I love nothing more than to see out over the world and breathe it in/out as no one has ever done before.

Dear & Beloved friend, child, awesome worker of Light, I am holding you, I am holding onto you, I am breathing you. When you cannot find your way out of the tangle, I am busily clearing the path.

With all my love,

Carol

 

Daylight Spending Time (11/15/16)

(From her to me – A Message from one of my Guides…)

This time change is more unsettling. No longer routine, it has you flexed & poised for a change which isn’t yet an event. You & everyone else out there are poised for the different, the new, the moveable feast & sitting, holding a knife & fork is frustrating when the food just doesn’t show up.

Yes, you do what is yours to do. You carry it forward as you go, since there’s really no going back. No matter how glamorous the life looked, it isn’t the reality you once escaped. And you are so well aware of that.

You recapture in small increments the deeds that brought satisfaction once. You find your favorite place in the sunny library on a brisk day, only to have the building announce it is closing in ten minutes just as you lay pen to paper. However, the conversation of twenty minutes which prevented you from writing was more important. Balance.

You don’t need a writing coach, you need an editor. You need someone to go thru the material & tell you what works in the world. Only on TV do first efforts bear fruit so emphatically. You’re still perceiving thru a glass darkly when your eyes see real light, changing & holy but when the rest of you feels shadowed. In this perception is great clarity, but also some confusion.

The desire for change brings it about, but it is not the change.

You have repeated & restated your priorities any number of times. This hasn’t effected any of them, though it has affected your way of thinking.

Yes, you remember so much. Your mind can be a razor blade & your words cut deeply. But I know you to be kind in your truth & careful in your telling of it. That’s what counts.

You have found many communities of comfort here, many more than anywhere else you’ve lived. Your true roots are here for the you of this moment, this date, and resident of this ever-particular now.

Carol, you’re old enough to know so much. Your memory & perceptions are prodigious. Your next calling will be one of such beauty & clarity it will be breathtaking.

So put your heart into your life, keep it front & center, hold it high as any standard ever could be. Keep your humor and don’t give up or relax your vigilance for a better life because no matter how good this one may be, there is always such available to you.

You don’t have to wrestle any bears or harness any giraffes. You only must remain steady in the expression of your gifts & be tender in your presentations of them to the world. You only have to celebrate who you are. All else is being taken care of in the most divine way.

Put your hands to work & your heart will work your hands. All you do shall be blessed & blessing. Be who & how you are: show up – walk into the water. It may seem shallow, but only for a little while longer. Soon its depth & richness will amaze you.

It really is ok to be who you are, doing what you’re doing. Rest in this so all else may flow forward.

We love you, dearest one.

Shine on, Beloved.

Shine on.

Angelina of the Violet Eyes

Remember Joy!

THREE EXCLAMATORY POEMS

Remember Joy

And even if you weep, remember Joy

If lamentation fills the

Seeping hollows of your soul

Oozes from your pores

Pools at your feet to travel

Coldly to your neck

Submerging heart & soul & all between

In ice & damp

Remember Joy!

 For Joy lives underneath this moment

A narrow focus angling wider beam

To bathe you in a smile

Pastel as clouds on morning sky

Near as sunshine after pounding rain

Tremulous as a maiden taking hands with a new lover

For till you turn your attention to her spark

To fan it with your last despairing breath

She cannot tuck you in upon her bosom

Lay you down to rest, her steady gaze

Upon your lips, waiting out your smile

She will lift a callused, sturdy hand

To smooth your knitted brow

Or answer all your troublous winter questions

With an eyebrow quirked in query

Invitation in her eyes

A sparkling laugh to light

A fire in your belly

Remember Joy

For none of this is real as we would make it

Morning always comes; it’s non-negotiable

Spend not your heart to entrain Sorrow,

Joy’s younger sister, dressed in weeds & black

Give Joy the chance to take you in a wing’s flash

A child’s laugh or pierced shout of delight.

Her arms are always open till they close ‘round us

Resting her chin in neck-notch or atop our head

She offers all release, all dawning hope

Reclaiming scattered pieces of our soul

To knit anew in light

To set to shine as star at daybreak

Over all

 

Exhortation!

Set yourself to sea with a shout!

A push from shore

Blow into your sails to raise the wind

Of your being high above the pale water

Paddle for all you’re worth!

Recoup your claim upon this only world

Recant all sorrow, hunger, wanting

For life is not a patient yearn of waiting

For us to turn to her,

But wings toward us always

Beak full with all she’s gathered

Stuffing you to full as you scream, “More!”

 

Believe Wildly!

Set forth on quads & hamstrings, foursquare ‘pon two legs

Love with a candling heart, set afire to see by

Examine all your life

Illuminate the path ahead

Believe with your liver; trust all anger is undone

Believe with your whole soul all prayers are answered

As only you permit

Believe in love with both hands, with your skin

Believe in sorrow only as a salt to season joy

Return to sweetness in your spleen & stomach

Breathe the whole breath of life from your sinus cavities

To the lobes of your lungs

Believe! Step up & take this now upon you

A mantle of forever writ assured

On eyes & ears & brow

The runes of success dance within your aura

Don’t hesitate to claim them, brandish them

Shouting from the voice, lay claim to life

Alive & lived, not set aside in corners…

Believe your inner world as surely as the outer

Your dreams made solid, fierce, by hope.

Demand they show up, call in their presence

Surrender your will with your wrists & ankles

Submitting only to life & then to more of the same

Keep moving! Even as you stop to grasp a dream

The full moon rolls up onto your horizon

Believing only in the sun it follows forever

Believe with your wishbones!

Life is watching over you

Eternal & endless in a proud desire

To know you well, to serve you more of more

As you believe!

Home Sweet Home (Revisited)

I have lived in many places – sometimes – if not usually – in the very same town. The stretch between being in one place and the other can make it feel like I’m living in two different universes. Already in Hillsboro, I’ve moved once again after landing late March.

Living at the Barbershop Motel was like living in an Edward Hopper painting – you know, the one where faded people sit in chairs at open-all-night bars (look up “Nighthawks”) or sitting by themselves somewhere, seeming as though waiting for life to stop by for a visit.

I have felt for a long time that life has better things to do than come by my door. A singular encounter released me from the motel. What a growth opportunity this has been! It was joyous, fun, enlarging & definitely extraordinary.

You see, I believe in alternative stuff…disinformation, “fake news”, all kinds of breathy pulsating topics which are sidereal to what’s often called mainstream. I am not sure I believe in any-much anymore except one-to-one conversational laybys with friends who have history with me. And the event which propelled me from the “Hopper Effect” was highly spiritual in nature. But, the details aren’t to be listed here & the cover story will serve.

I came to New Mexico for one reason; to help others. So long as I can live rent-free somewhere, I can afford to live. Ha! I’ll bet many of you reading this could say the same. I am free from “earning” a conventional living. I am one of those seniors now affording to live on about $1,000 each month of Social Security. The government has generously given me cost-of-living-raises of $3 per year since I took early retirement seven years back. I am exploring the altered state of not having a regular job to report to. If I curtail pretty much anything which costs me money, I can make this work. Once the credit cards are paid up, I’ll be relatively wealthy.

This is simplified since I live in a town with only antique stores, no bank, no bodega, one café where the food is mostly selections from a menu I don’t eat, one wine bar (I don’t drink) – imagine! No Starbucks, no Walgreens, no fast-food or retail outlets, no movie theatres… An outstanding all-volunteer library is up the hill. Some of the most spectacular scenery in the world is nine miles away (Gila National Wilderness), everyone in town is a Master of something. We have artists, natural food growers, writers, engineers of all description – but in the end, we’re all old farts who live in a town of 150 where the list of what we would seem not to have stretches much farther than what we do. But how much would you pay for peace of mind, knowing your neighbors, uninterrupted sunlight, cool nights & no cell service downtown?

You have attained “favor” here if you have a tree to park the car beneath & can remember what day the Pickin’ Circle meets to play outside the Black Range Vineyards Wine Bar. I have attained my own favor because I know the people on my street (which is, by the way, is the main drag among three others.)

Malcolm Gladwell, in his book, The Tipping Point, writes a chapter on how 150 is an optimum number of people to have in your circle – whether social or employment. There are 150 people in this town. Internet data will inform you we’re a “statistical entity” with a population of 120 as of 7/16. Guess we’ve had another gold rush if the numbers are up by 30 in a year!

It’s unusual to hear children unless the “grands” are visiting. In a town this size, everyone becomes a character worthy of their own sitcom. Most of the women are gray-haired, most of the men have beards or handlebar moustaches. There’s a tiny stable on the upper corner with a white horse & her two companion miniature horses. At the diagonal opposite is a road which is crossed by Percha Creek when it rains (which it seldom does.) Our town park could fit in a backyard.

I love it here.

Tonight I am headed to a concert with Randy Granger, a world-class musician who plays any number of instruments with whole-hearted soul. It’s outdoors under the white-pointed black sky. I will even have to look for a jacket to wear! I’ll see & greet neighbors, enjoy the tunes & drive the nine miles home in the altered state only live performance can create.

Cheers!

 

 

 

Holy Cow?

So the day didn’t start strangely enough at 3:30 a.m. when I woke to the smell of something burning. Like nothing I’d smelled before. I keep the windows open & the odor drifted in to draw me out of my dream. Opening the front door didn’t help, I saw no leaping flames or unusual glows. So I had a coffee, climbed back into bed long enough to pull the covers up & decide I didn’t really want to be there, might as well get up & get started.

Since I was so early, I pulled on my stretchies & a sweatshirt, grabbed a key & the handweights & headed out the door. Across the street was a small chile roaster merrily pumping smoke into the morning air. OH! Overnight brisket cookout.

Up in the hill-fields to my right, a loud moo-ing started up & sounded like a seashore foghorn. I just marched west on Highway 152, taking in the earliness of the day. The sun hadn’t even risen over the foothills east of town, so all was still in cool shade. It felt good to walk, to breathe, to feel the resistance the weights provided.

About two-tenths of a mile out of town, just across the bridge over Percha Creek (pictured above), I noticed a large black, indeterminate mass on the right side of the road. Now, I’ve seen critters around before, why, just yesterday the town’s small herd of mule deer dashed down our main street like a Baskerville Hound had just hit the tarmac behind them. But a large black clump of … something … deserves hesitation & respect & maybe even a quick 180 home. So I walked on a bit less enthusiastically. I wondered if it could be a few turkey vultures having a fast-food roadkill. But this black thing wasn’t really moving like anything I was familiar with.

I slipped closer, at which point, one entirely black mass separated from a black & white one whose lugubrious white face pinned me. It was a Momma Cow curled up roadside & her youngster (the size of a Shetland pony) standing over her. When she rocked up to her feet, I decided a 180 was in order. Turning, I re-crossed the bridge, casting a glance over my shoulder, wondering if they’d follow me back to town or – worse – chase me for some reason. I’d already sized up both sides of the road & I could have made it over the fencing, but not without damage from the bob-wire strands. But the range rovers were gone. Mirage? No, I saw them.

Another 180. Might as well continue my walk if the road’s clear. And at the five-tenths mark, I noticed a loner grazing in the yard where a friend lives. Then I saw my friend’s roommate glide onto the deck with a slingshot & launch at the cow. Which jump-stepped into a trot out of their yard. Ah, the pyrotechnics of my peaceful morning health walk. Hamburger on the hoof, fire to roast it in & no way I was touching either one, even with one of my 3-pound weights.

Now, I wasn’t raised around farm animals. I don’t say anything but good morning to critters I see. Walking east is peaceful, involving only a nod at a yellow-white mule; another time I sighted a gray fox dashing across the street, brush low.

Walking west from town is always an adventure; once there was a yellow dog, head down, hackles raised, growling from the shoulder of the road. I didn’t even share a good morning with that one, its rumbling found me already turning from a good bit away & I was back into town in a jiffy. Another time walking west, I found a raven hopping along the side of the road, looking for all the world like it was searching for a housekey – which it might have been, had the key been shiny.

I guess it was a Mother’s Day sighting. Today the town dusts itself off, trots out the gizmos & doodads for a half-mile yard sale. The annual Mom’s Day weekend tradition seems to be putting out goods only your Mom might remember from the days before GE & Westinghouse infiltrated kitchens.

But I’m kind of glad the bonded pair did not follow me back to town & I had no more sightings except for the birds impatiently waiting for me to exit the picnic table after an al fresco granola breakfast. They’re eager to scarf up the birdseed I put out. Now, that’s about my comfort zone of critter today!

Whew!

Rain

4/28-29/17

The rain woke me after midnight. This is the first rain since I’ve been here, just over a month now. I thought at first it was leaves tapping against the concrete walkway outside. I thought, “more sweeping to do” as I’ve swept every day, sometimes twice to keep the walk clear. Saves the heavier work of vacuuming what is tracked or blown in the door.

As I surfaced from full sleep, I realized there could be no leaves this crispy in spring…

This rain is tentative but steady, tap-tapping on the metal roof. I climb from bed to make a cup of chai, and return to cover up & sip it. And listen, cup in one hand, pen in the other. The heavy curtains belly out with that distinctive fragrance: Rain In The Desert. The Balinese cow bell serving as my doorbell sounds quietly, announcing a soft gusting accompaniment of breeze.

(In the desert, the smell of moisture precedes it, distinct & heady from the usual baked-sand scent. This rain will help to settle some of the dust raised by the highway department lately on a mission to dump yet more dirt. This seems to me an exercise in futility since dirt is hardly scarce here & quite abundantly distributed. But with their arcane signage & the unexplained descent of men in orange vests driving orange earthmovers, there is nothing to do but obey the “stop” & “go” of their outriders.  I question their purpose & their presence, especially when they leave the soil on the roadway – the one place it was not before their unexplained project. Are they burying us in more?)

When I thought the rain had passed by & started to doze again, another mild volley begins. I can feel the trees outside expanding, the weeds under them reaching out for sustenance. Are there others brewing tea & returning to cover up their legs in bed, just listening to the fall? A rare & delightful sound, a “joyful noise.” Who else in town lies awake scenting this perfume of suspended water falling on a dry world? More than I know? Fewer than I think?

Geoengineering has upended the weather patterns. The changes in Mother Nature herself wing out from that foul ruination of climate integrity. As the sun rolls from yellow to white & the clocks continue a relentless march forward, tonight’s quiet cleansing gentles the planet: rhythmic, soulful, fragrant, musical.

I pull the covers up to my ears & return to sleep, listening to the lullaby.