Lair of the Lunatic

The Care and Feeding of a Trinity

2009-03-03T13:26:00.002-05:00

Who hasn't heard of the concept of a trinity? Christians in particular should be familiar with the concept of "the holy trinity"--God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost. But the teaching of the trinity is not restricted to Christianity, one finds it too in the ancient Pagan teachings where they worshipped the Great Goddess in her triune form--Maiden, Mother, Crone.

But the idea of a trinity is not one to be relegated to beliefs in gods and religions, it is a fact that each and every one of us compromises an individual trinity.You've heard the expression "Body, mind and soul?"

Think about it....each person on this planet is made up of three seperate and distinct parts.

Their Body, or physical shell. (Go on, pinch your arm, you know you want to )

Their Mind, or intellectual capacity.

Their Soul, or that part of them that is connected directly to everything else - indeed to the source itself.

And each of these parts is directly related to a plane or level of existence. (Now for those 'spiritual' scholars among you, I am by no means saying that these three are the only realms...only that the represent the three BASIC levels of reality, sub-realities, layers, levels, I'm not going to get into an argument over it...just as each child grows differently, so too does each person experience these realms based on their own experiences and interpretations of such)

The Body, of course, being the most obvious, is directly connected to physical reality.

The Mind to the astral.

The Soul to the spiritual.

So what does this mean? What does it matter that we have three component parts? Why should it make a difference that each of these parts is finely attuned with a different level of reality?

What it means is that in order to be whole....in order to be complete in and of yourself, it is necessary for you to make your peace with each of these parts. Each of them needs to be fed and understood, otherwise we are going to not only feel incomplete, but will be hungry enough that we will try anything that offers to fill us.

Just as we are encouraged to eat three substantial meals a day, why not try three "meals" a day for your trinity?

Once a day give your physical body something that it craves; physical exercise, tasty food, a warm bath, hot sex.

Once a day give your mind something it craves; read a good book, have a good conversation with a friend, or (and I can't believe I'm going to say this) play an involved game of some sort, (computer or regular) that gives your logic circuts a good workout.

And finally, for your third meal a day, don't forget to feed your soul; take the time to meditate, pray, concentrate (however you like to define it); something that connects you to the source and that helps you to remember why it is that you are here, in this physical body.

Over time the care and feeding of your trinity will become second nature to you, but in the end it will be well-worth your effort.

2012: THE END OR THE BEGINNING?

2009-02-24T14:06:00.000-05:00

I told a friend of mine that we were on the verge of a spiritual evolution, and they responded immediately with a comment about 2012. “Well yes, of course, in 2012 we’ll see an alignment of….”

And off they went, waxing eloquent and I watched them curiously as they tied it into Christ Consciousness and the astrological precession of the equnoxes and I had to wonder….Who hasn’t heard of 2012? Who hasn’t heard of the ancient Mayan calendar (known as The Long Count calendar) that marks the duration of the current b'ak'tun (a length of time measured by the interlocking cyclical calendars that the Mayans used to measure everything from growing seasons to childbirth to spiritual cycles) and which supposedly ends on 21 December 2012?

New Age writers claim that this date will mark the end of the world as we know it; predicting everything from catastrophic earth changes to shifts in cosmic energy and/or the arrival of helpful extraterrestrials who will guide Earth into the next stage of its evolution.

Some scholars point to the Popol Vuh, in which are recorded the details of the the K’iche’ Maya creation accounts. According to the Popol Vuh we are living in the fourth world, and that this particular creation will end on 20 December 2012, followed by the start of the fourteenth b’ak’tun (13.0.0.0.0) on 21December 2012.

They may be right. The world may end in fire – or ice (which would suffice ).

Or maybe not.

Those that say the date will usher in a new awareness; a new consciousness may also be right.

Or not.

Perhaps the calendar is just that - a calendar – a calendar that will roll over (as calendar’s do) and start over again on 21 December 2012, and everyone will wake up and the world will continue on exactly as it has for the last innumerable number of years.

Or maybe not.

I think that the problem with assigning dates is that we put far too much faith in fallible human systems and fail to see the spiritual truths that are staring us right in the face.

WE ARE ON THE VERGE OF A MAJOR SPIRITUAL EVOLUTION.

Everything points to it. Anyone who is remotely sensitive can feel it. The thing is, I don’t think that this spiritual evolution is dependent upon a date – upon the stars being in the right location or….well, you get the idea. I think that the alignments and what not may contribute to the spiritual evolution, in fact there may be natural cataclysms as the earth responds to the changes in the earth’s vibrational energy, but will it happen ON 21 December 2012? Does it have to?

It WILL happen, and chances are it will happen in a way that will come as a surprise to even the most devout or scholarly. So hold onto your hats my friends, and keep your hearts open, for the next few years are going to bring changes such as the world has never seen…changes that are going to happen in ways that can only be imagined, changes that are going to affect

2009-02-16T13:20:00.000-05:00

Fire.

Burning.

Consuming.

Transforming.

It is fire that transforms crass material matter into boundless energy.

Energy that creates heat through the friction of it’s consumption of matter.

Heat that serves as the catalyst to change physical objects from one shape to another through transmutation.

In the ancient days mankind made offerings to god (however they worshipped him) through the medium of fire. And the keepers of their knowledge knew that it was the concept of fire as a purifier of hearts that was the important thing, not the burning of the matter itself. Through releasing the physical object into the flames one could bring noble aspirations into the world by burning away the clutter under which they were buried. Over time the concept of burnt offerings became a moot point as it was discovered that the same fire exists within our hearts as our own soul and sacred spirit.

We, you and I, are the light of the world. We contain the light of consciousness within our souls. If we subject every emotion, every thought to the burning power of the fire within it will either be burned up into nothingness – proving it to be lacking substance – or will burn off any residual tarnish or clutter, revealing the worth of the object underneath.

The fire within burns.

A cleansing fire; consuming that which is worthless.

Transforming everything it touches.

An eternal flame at the heart of creation.

The Boy Who Lived in a Box

2009-02-12T11:55:00.000-05:00

The Boy Who Lived in a Box

There was once a boy who lived in a box.

It was a very big box; big enough for the boy and his family and friends, indeed for his entire town to live within comfortably. But it was a box nonetheless.

Most of those who lived within the box had become so used to living in a box that they could not see it for what it was. The sky they saw. The forest they saw. The mountains. But not the sides of the box. Not the lid.

But the boy saw.

One of the first things he remembered was asking his mother why they lived in a box.

“Don’t be silly, how could we possibly live in a box? Eat your vegetables.”

And asking his father.

“A box? Rediculous. If we lived in a box someone would know about it; someone would have told us.”

His grandfather.

“In my day young people didn’t ask questions about boxes. They paid attention to the important things, like school and learning a trade. Living in a box! Boy, you need your eyes checked!”

When the boy went to school, he was very happy, for now he thought that he would receive an answer to his question. So he asked his teacher, “why do we live in a box?”

“History makes no mention of us being in a box” said the teacher seriously. “This region has always been agriculturally based. Now if you want boxes, the outskirts of the city has many factories – I’m sure that one of them makes boxes. Please, take out your pencil and do problems #1-14, even only!”

The boy tried talking to his fellow students, but most of them just laughed and shook their heads. “Hey look, it’s the box boy!” they called out to him, and the name stuck. So the boy went on.

Day after day he would leave his house and look up at the lid of the box and wonder how it was possible that no one else could see it. Were they blind? Even the corrugation of the sides was blindingly obvious! The trees of the forest across the river, they were only painted on! And the sky – couldn’t they see that the clouds never changed position?

And so the years passed. The Box Boy did well in school. He was quiet and withdrawn. He had few friends, for how could he open up to anyone who didn’t see what was right in front of their faces?

But he was sad, and lonely. And one day he wandered into a church. There he found a priest polishing the candlesticks and, in a fit of despair he cried “Oh priest, tell me why it is that I can see that we live in a box and no one around me can see it?”

Startled, the priest put down his polishing cloth, took the boy by both hands and looked into his eyes.
“You see the box?” he asked, greatly agitated.

“Yes! A box – we are all living inside of a box!”

The priest made a holy sign and called for his superior.

“The boy sees the box!” he said to his superior as the boy sat quiet still, wondering why his words had caused such consternation.

The older priest looked at him carefully, then looked back at the younger priest.
“He has opened himself up to evil if he sees the box. He must be cleansed.”

And so they performed the ritual of cleansing. When it was completed the younger priest asked eagerly “Boy, look around you, do you still see the box?”

The boy looked, and while he could still see the box, he knew that if he answered yes it would cause only more agitation, so he shook his said, smiled gently and said, “Thank you priest. The box is gone. Your god must be wondrous indeed.”

As he left, he could see the older priest watching him curiously, but tried not to make eye contact. Could the old man know that he was lying?

After that he stopped mentioning the box, but that did not stop him from seeing it. And the box began to haunt his dreams.

One morning not long after he had talked to the priest, he awoke early and heard voices in the kitchen below his bedroom. It was his mother and father. They were talking, about him.

“The boy was dreaming again last night,” said his mother.

His father sighed. “Was it the same dream?”

“About the box, yes. It disturbs his sleep my husband.”

“Indeed,” said his father, and then was quiet for a while. “I think that it is time,” he said sadly.

“Time for what?” thought the boy as he dressed for a new day.

He soon found out.

Two days his father took him to see a strange man in a square room. The man looked at him through a glass and listened to him through a tube and asked him many questions – none of them having to do with the box. But when he had finished he looked wisely at the boy over the tops of his glasses, nodded twice, then said to the father, “You are right. He is in need.”

And so began the pills. Every day his father would give him a sleek pink pill with a glass of water and tell him to swallow.

The boy fought it a first, tried to trick his father, but sometimes he swallowed the pill.

And then he stopped fighting, and soon the pills took effect and the edges of the box receded from the boy’s vision. Receded until they were no more than wavery lines on the horizon. And then, then they were gone altogether.

Soon he began to forget that he had ever thought there was a box.

And the boy dreamed now, not about the box, but about loss, about searching for something he had lost, but he couldn’t remember what.

And so the days passed, and no one called him Box Boy anymore. No one laughed at him. No priests made holy signs when they passed. And one day he caught the eye of a neighbor girl and soon they had their own home, and two children in the upstairs bedroom, and the days passed most agreeably…

Until the morning that his two-year-old daughter woke up screaming in the night; screaming about a box that no one else could see.

That morning he stopped taking the pink pills. Two days later the box was back – as solid and as real as it had ever been, and he knew then, knew with a sinking feeling in his heart, that he could no longer deny the reality of the box. What was more, he had to find out what it was – WHY it was, and even more importantly, if there was anything outside of it, if not for himself, then for his daughter. He couldn’t have her grow up the way he had, he would not be the one to tell her that the box did not exist. He would discover the meaning of the box, and he would come back and give her ANSWERS.

And so it was that the boy packed his bag, kissed his wife while she slept, and then his daughter, but as he kissed her soft cheek, he paused to whisper “don’t tell anyone about the box. Don’t tell them love, I too see the box. I see the box and I’ve gone to find you the answers.” He didn’t know if she could hear him in her dreams, but he hoped so, for he didn’t want her to fear her vision, he didn’t want her to have to pretend to be anyone other than who she was.

And so he kissed his wife and daughter while they slept, and stole away into the night. He did not know how long it was going to take. He did not know where his quest would take him, but he knew that it would only end when he could prove the box’s existence.

There was once a girl who lived in a box.

It was a very big box; big enough for the girl and her family and friends, indeed for her entire town to live within comfortably. But it was a box nonetheless.

Most of those who lived within the box had become so used to living in a box that they could not see it for what it was. The sky they saw. The forest they saw. The mountains. But not the sides of the box. Not the lid.

But the girl saw.

The girl saw, but she did not speak of the box. Not to her mother. Not to her grandfather. Not to her teacher or even the priest. She did not speak of the box, for she remembered, very clearly she remembered her father.

She remembered pretending to be asleep so he wouldn’t be mad. She remembered him whispering in her ear “don’t tell anyone about the box. Don’t tell them love, I too see the box. I see the box and I’ve gone to find you the answers.”

It worried her though – that she could see the box. And she wondered, as she played with her dolls, what had happened to her father, for it had been many years – ten years now – since her father had whispered to her while she slept, and still he did not return.

Her mother had cried for days. She had been mad for weeks. She had mourned him for months, and finally she had gone to the priest and had brought back a new husband, and told the girl that her father was no longer alive, and that this man was her father now.

But while the girl did not deny it, she did not accept it, and she waited patiently for the day that her father would return.

And then one day, there was a knock at the door and the girl opened it to find a man in a travel-stained cloak standing outside of her door.

“Daddy!” she cried, throwing herself into his arms. “I didn’t tell anyone daddy, I didn’t tell! You came back, I knew you’d come back! I waited and waited!”

The boy held her close, his precious daughter, close to his heart and smiled, for he knew without being told that she could still see the box, and he knew that finally, finally – it was time.

The girl’s mother came to the door then, looked at the boy with her lip curled and said “How dare you touch my daughter! You abandoned her! You left me! You went in search of god only knows what and left us alone.”

“He had to go!” said the girl defensively, clutching her father’s arm. “He left for me.”

“What are you talking about!” said the girl’s mother with a dismissive gesture.

“I found the box.” Said the boy simply, and the girl’s mother froze, for how many times while they had been married had he mourned in his sleep for that which he had lost? How many times had he awoken from a dream in which he had been searching for something which he could not name? “I opened the lid – and you won’t believe it! There is a world outside of the box - a world where anything is possible – a world beyond your wildest dreams!

And now, from the look on his face, it was clear that he had found…something. Something that had changed his entire life.

But he was mad – he had to be mad! Only mad men could see the box. Mad men and demons. The box was the stuff of legends – of myth. It wasn’t real. It was only a metaphor.

Aghast at his audacity, the girl’s mother pulled the girl out of her father’s arms and called the authorities. She called them and demanded that they arrest the boy, that they keep him away from her daughter, that they put an end to this dangerous behavior.

And so it was that the court was convened and the boy was brought before it – and he gave his testimony. And there were those to whom the testimony touched a chord in their hearts, for hadn’t they caught a glimpse of the box too, when they were younger? But it was just childhood fantasies – wasn’t it?

And so witnesses were brought against the boy – and it looked grim indeed for the boy, and the priests smiled at each other behind their beards, and the teachers nodded sanctimoniously behind their spectacles. And just as the judge was about to pronounce the boy insane and commit him to prison, the doors burst open and the girl dashed into the courtroom.

“Please, Judge, listen to me!” she cried. “This is my father that you are about to condemn. He left to find the answers – he left to find out about the box.”

“Yes child, we know” said the judge gently. “He is a sick man, for everyone knows that there is no box.”

“But there IS a box!” cried the girl loudly. “There is, I have seen it! I can show it to you! Please, please let me show it to you!”

The judge looked concernedly at the girl – was this man’s madness a disease? Had he passed it to his daughter.

“She is normal” said the doctor, as if intuiting the judge’s question. “She has been studied and questioned, just in case.”

“Please!” said the girl, with tears on her face now. “Please, let me show you!”

And so the judge and the courtroom, the priests and the teachers and the doctor with his glass followed the girl to the river, and across, to the place where the forest began – the forest that no one ever went into. The forbidden forest.

“No child, you can not enter the forest!” said the judge.

“I will not enter – but look!” she said, and reached out a hand and with her fingernails, she scratched marks into the sides of the box.

Astounded all those that followed stared at the marks – appearing as if out of nowhere on the walls that they were now able, suddenly to see.

“It IS a box!” she cried, picking up a rock and throwing it with all her might at the boxes wall. It fell away like a drop of water off of a glass, and the whole mass of people shouted as one….what was this! How could it be!

Like blind men they began to tear and pummel at the wall of the box, and when the true sunlight of the world beyond spilled in on their unbelieving faces, they froze, numbed and awed at the sudden knowledge that had been thrust upon them.

And so it was that the girl and her father took the villagers, their family and fiends by the hands and led them through the hole in the boxes wall and into the fields of freedom that lay beyond.

The Last Stand

2009-02-08T13:16:00.000-05:00

On June 25 and 26, 1876, near the Little Bighorn River in what was then the Eastern Montana Territory (now Crow Agency, MT) there was a historic battle between the highly trained American military forces under George Armstrong Custer and Sitting Bull, who led the Lakota and Northern Cheyenne in a desperate attempt to preserve their land. The U.S. Seventh Cavalry, including a column of 700 men, was defeated. Five of the Seventh's companies were annihilated.

Most American Children at some point hear the story of Custer's Last Stand....how the brave soldiers fought the fierce Indians, and how they fought to the last man. How the soldiers threw everything they had at the Indians, but were unable to stem the tide. Books have been written. Movies have been made. And Custer always ALWAYS is portrayed as the hero. Hopelessly outnumbered he sacrifices himself (and all his men I might add) in order to fulfill his duty.The Lakota and Northern Cheyenne, however, were fighting for their freedom. And, for a brief period of time, they achieved it.

Every time I hear this story I think about a friend of mine who described the last stand of the Ego in very much the same terms.There comes a point, my friend said, where you reach an impasse. The trail of reason and logic ends quite abruptly at a seemingly bottomless abyss. There is no alternate path. The trail before you simply ends. And you realize, with a shuddering sort of horror, that there is no way out. There are no alternate paths, no bridges, nothing to make your journey any easier or more plesant. It simply ends. And it dawns on you then, that you must either return the way you came; give up all the progress you made and go back to living within the illusion of the Matrix, or take the leap of faith and hope to hell that either the abyss is an illusion itself, or that you can suddenly learn how to fly.

It is at this point that the ego makes its last best stand, throwing at you every thing within its arsanol. It reasons, begs, cajoles, threatens. It uses every emotion, every regret, every hope and dream and obligation, every attachment, every failure....the ego spares nothing to get you to turn around. To retrace your steps, and reenter a world when you needed it, when you listened to it, and made it feel important.

It is at this point, when things seem their darkest, when you swear that you can not bear a single more minute of the torture, when your mind is screaming at you to "turn around, now, before it's too late" that you must quiet your mind, do whatever it takes to tune out the screaming demands of the ego, and listen to the quiet stillness of your heart.

If you can take the time to listen, to hear, and to understand your heart, if you can find it within yourself to consider what it is telling you, then chances are your next step will not be a re-tracing of the steps, all those days and weeks and years of learning and growth, but taking that step into the unkown, and understanding that the universe will guide you. Step out now. I want to see your wings!

Dance by the Light of the Moon

2009-01-12T14:34:00.000-05:00

Rare is the individual who has not read – or heard – the charming “nonsense” poem by Edward Lear titled: “The Owl and the Pussycat”I’ve always been fascinated by this story. When I was very small I had a book of illustrated poems, and I would stare for hours at the picture of the owl and his amour, imagining that I was sailing away with them, meeting the pig and the turkey and building sand castles while the newlyweds danced in the sand.I used to think that it was just a silly fascination – a fascination with two animals that I have always held an affinity for – a fascination for the attraction of opposites (for hasn’t anyone else found it odd that the owl (a creature of the air) and the cat (a creature of the earth) choose to journey together on a medium (ocean) in which neither of them is at home?And then, not long ago as I was cleaning out my youngest daughter’s bookcase, I found my old copy of the illustrated poems and found myself staring at the picture again – this time with new eyes.So bear with me – I am going to post the poem here, and then list some of the things I noticed. I will leave you to come to your own conclusions, perhaps you will see what I saw. Perhaps not. Either way, a quick journey down childhood’s memory lane will not hurt you

************************************************** ***

THE OWL AND THE PUSSYCAT~ Edward Lear
The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,'O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!
'Pussy said to the Owl, 'You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?
'They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.
'Dear pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?' Said the Piggy, 'I will.
'So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon

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The Owl is a symbol of the moon and the night; magic and darkness; prophecy and wisdom.
The Cat is a symbol of mystery and independence, spirituality and sensuality, symbolic as well of agility in both body and mind.

Boat: a Boat represents the ability to cope with and express your emotions.
The Ocean : to travel across the ocean signifies new found freedom and independence, you are showing great courage.

A YEAR AND A DAY: The period of a year and a day was a convenient period to represent a significant amount of time. Its use was generally as a jubilee or a permanence.
In reference to Handfasting – a year and a day referred to a sort of temporary union or trial marriage before permanent marriage.

The Pig: the pig is a symbol of wealth and prosperity and luck, spiritual strength and protection.

The Wood – or Forest: (from Forests: The Shadow of Civilization by Robert Pogue Harrison) "an outlying realm of opacity which has allowed that civilization to estrange itself, enchant itself, terrify itself...in short to project into the forests shadows its secrets and innermost anxieties."

The Ring: In zen Buddhism, it can represent enlightenment – completeness – the universe – the source. A ring denoted eternity among the Hindus, Persians and Egyptians; and Brahma, as the creator of the world, bears a ring in his hand. The Egyptian priests in the temple of the creative Vulcan of the Greeks represented the year under the form of a ring, made of a serpent having its tail in its mouth--a very common shape of ancient rings. The hole in the center of the ring is not just space either; it is important in its own right as the symbol of the gateway, or door; leading to things and events both known and unknown.

The Turkey: the tyrkey is the symbol of sacrifice – acting on the behalf of others – a symbol of transcending self.

The Hill: In symbology a hill (top of) represents achievement of a goal or accomplishment

The Marriage: Marriage signifies commitment, harmony or transitional period. You are undergoing an important developmental phase in your life. It may also represent the unification of formerly separate or opposite aspects of yourself. In particular, it is the union of masculine or feminine aspects of yourself

Quince: A quince is a fruit resembling a pear that was first cultivated in the Middle East. In fact, the proverbial apple offered to Adam by Eve may actually be more accurately translated as a quince. There is speculation that it may also be considered “the forbidden fruit” for the knowledge that eating it will bring to the one who consumes it.

The Shoreline: The boarder between realities – between dimensions – where science and spirituality meet – overlap. It suggests that your emotional needs are satisfied and any inner turmoil has been resolved. It also symbolizes a place where the conscious mind meets the unconscious.

The Moon: Clairvoyance, knowing without thinking, illumination, unconscious made conscious.

Dancing: Dancing represents freedom from any constraints and restrictions. Your life is balanced and in harmony. Dancing also represents frivolity, happiness, gracefulness, sensuality and sexual desires. To dance with a partner, signifies intimacy and a union of the masculine and feminine aspects of yourself. If you are leading, then it indicates that you are in control of your personal life.

************************************************** ****

And so we come to the end. Is it a nonsense poem? Can it be read as representative of a deeper truth?The dots have been laid out – it is up to you to connect them.

Or not

A Fist Full of Lavender

2008-10-20T11:23:00.000-04:00

It was like getting hit in the heart with a fist full of lavender.

The pain (if you can call it that) was so intense
that I literally came to a full stop (and promptly got run over by 2 high-school students, an executive in a pin-striped suit and a red power tie, and a woman in stillettoe heels and a fake fur jacket (now those stilletoes HURT! I still have the marks on my foot)

But I digress.

I am no stranger to Kundalini awakenings. I have experienced the fluctuation of the energy as it makes its way through the various Chakras, the slugishness when it hits a blockage, the (almost) pain when it breaks through, the elation when the entire system is in allignment (for however long). Last Spring I went through an awakening that ratcheted everything up to a whole new level...and I honestly thought that it couldn't get any more intense...but this...!!!

I was on the subway, plugged into my Mp3 player, staring at the lights flashing by in the tunnel, and we emerged onto an open air platform. When I stepped out of the door...was it the air after the closed up carriage? Was it the sunshine after being in the dark so long? Or was it that particular moment that my heart chakra - after weeks of meditation - decided to open up so completely that the whole world seemed to pause? (Well my internal world anyway, for behind me - around me - the subway and the people certainly didn't pause - or even slow down).

I hondstly don't know what cuased it - but in the next second I could breathe - not just my lungs (which felt as if they had expanded to three times their capacity and had been filled with a burst of lavender scented air) but every cell in my body seemed to expand as well, taking in great gulps of...something, and setting the tingles going in a major way.

2008-10-09T10:14:00.002-04:00

It is always amazing to me that people don't know how to be themselves....they adopt opinions, beliefs; they take part in causes and join religions....but when you ask them to describe themselves, they really don't have a clue!

So who are you? Who am I? Can I be described as the sum of my parts? (woman, mother, wife, writer?) or am I more than this?

And how can one believe in the soul and NOT believe that they are more than just the body parts - the organs and blood and skin? How can they NOT believe that the soul is part of something greater?

How?

2008-08-25T15:37:00.001-04:00

Why do we fear the silence?

2008-07-23T15:00:00.004-04:00

We've all experienced that embarassing lull in the coversation at a dinner party, that moment when for the life of you you can't think of anything to say and laps into (heaven forbid) - silence.

In fact, on closer inspection it becomes obvious that western society as a whole has a problem with silence. Look around you, right now. Chances are you will see at least one (if not a dozen) people with headphones or ear buds; the soundtrack of their life. You see it everywhere - people trying to fill up the silence with noise. If they don't iPods plugged into their ears they have the music turned up in their cars or the televsion on when they're in the house.

So, what is it that is so very frightening about silence? Are we afraid that without the noise we might have to deal with the voice in our head? Perhaps that voice is asking questions that would change the way that we look at the world, perhaps it is telling you something about yourself that you don't want to hear. Pehaps it is just telling you to shut the ______ up!

But not everyone is frightened of the silence. There are those that practice silence - they practice meditation, the quieting of their minds in order to experience the bliss of pure silence; a truly liberating experience.

Learning to Let Go

2008-04-22T09:23:00.000-04:00

It's like waking from a dream.

One day you open your eyes and you begin to see everything around you from a new perspective. People, places, things that you've accumulated in your life no longer fit.

It's like when you were a child and you would go through a growth spurt - and suddenly nothing in your closet fit right anymore and your mum would sigh because it meant a trip to the department store.

Sometimes we grow out of things. And sometimes we deny that we have grown out of those things.

We try desperately to squeeze into that too-small shirt, or those size 2 jeans, and when we can't, when we finally admit to ourselves that there is no possible way that we can ever wear them again many times we still hang onto them out of sentimentality or nolstagia until we find ourselves with basements full of things that "just don't fit".

So too does the soul grow, or rather, our awareness of it.

As our awareness of it increases, we gain a clarity of sight and we begin to see the things around us with new eyes. And sometimes what we see with our new eyes shakes us to the very core of our beings, for our new eyes tell us that in order to make any sort of progress there are things we are going to have to give up.

Sometimes they are things that we never could have imagined ourselves giving up; jobs, dreams, locations, relationships.

And sometimes we try to squeeze ourselves back into them because we can't bear to give them up.

And sometimes....we don't.

The Spaces In Between

2008-04-17T09:24:00.000-04:00

Have you ever noticed? As humans we tend to focus on the tangible; the object, the sound, the smell, the taste, the texture. Let me explain:

My eyes read the lines of text in a book or on a computer screen - but what lies in the spaces in between the text?My ears hear the drum beats in the music playing on the radio - but what is it that is not heard in the silences?My mouth tastes the food that is placed into it, it chews and swallows, but there is a moment, just before I swallow when I am neither tasting nor swallowingMy hands feel the texture beneath them- but what about the empty spaces between my fingers? I am aware of the smells - but how often are we aware of the entire process of breathing? And to take breathing one step further - what exists in the instant between the exhalation and the inhalation? That pause where I am not breathing...

Perhaps the true mystery of life lies not in the knowing and the becoming - but in the spaces in between...in the silences of the symphony...in the darkness behind our eyes when we blink...in the blinding moment of sexual release when the world shrinks away to a pinpoint...in the pauses between heartbeats.

Perhaps it is in the not doing that the secrets of the universe lie; in the non-tangible that the truth of reality lies. And perhaps, just perhaps in learning how to read between the lines; in learning how to listen to the silences, in pausing between heartbeats we will find what we've been looking for and in so doing become so much more than we could ever have imagined.

Spring Fling

2008-03-21T09:28:00.006-04:00

Spring is here - and I must admit that it is a welcome relief to live in a part of the country where spring actually comes when it is supposed to. In fact, it sort of roared its way in yesterday; curtains of rain billowing in gusts of softly scented wind...and my baby apple tree shook itself off, took a deep breath, and burst into bloom. Quite amazing actually, to leave for work and see it standing there looking rather forlorn in the pre-dawn light, all gray and bare - and come home to find it covered in green nubbins with the beginnings of its pinkish-white blossoms just beginning to show.

Of course my crocuses defied all logic and came up back in February; silly things. I told them that they were being silly, but they just nodded pleasantly at me and refused to be deterred. They may look delicate, but I have a suspicion that they are much sturdier than they look.

Tulips now - tulips don't last long, but oh the vibrancy of their colors while they last! I love looking at Tulips, but they always make me just a little bit sad, because they are gone so soon.

And Dandelions. They are considered weeds, but their tenacity is to be commended, and once you get beyond their persistent and spreading root system, they are quite lovely in their own right - bright and cheerful - becoming gossamer delicate things in attempt to spread themselves as wide as possible.

But if I had to choose a flower to be, I'd have to pick my rambling rose. Every Winter I cut it down to knee height - and every spring it picks itself up, dusts itself off, and proceeds to grow wildly up the side of my house, dripping rose petals on anyone who walks beneath it and bursting into bloom randomly (and almost continually) from mid-April until November. It doesn't matter how many roses I cut - new buds are always ready to take their place. It doesn't matter how many times I trim it down, it always grows back again, sweeter and fuller than it was before.

So you can keep your crocuses, and your lilies, your tulips and your geraniums - even your Dandelions. I'll be the rosebush, and not let any setback or season keep me down.

Super Fat Tuesday

2008-02-05T06:55:00.000-05:00

Happy Super Fat Tuesday!

Odd that the American Primaries falls on the same day as the culmination of Mardi Gras. Does this mean that today is the last day to indulge in feasting, merry-making and niave dreams of a better America before the bitterness of Ash Wednesday when Lent begins and we wake up to the bitter reality; the knowledge that no matter who wins the election, nothing will actually change?

Oh indeed, there may be small changes; orange beads added to the accepted purple, gold and green of the traditional Mardi Gras colors; Bills passed that promise long-term changes and improvements, but what chance does either have of catching on? How realistic is it to think that anything will ever actually change?

For a festival with its roots in religion, Mardi Gras is nothing if not colorful and American election years follow suit. Perhaps more people would turn out to vote if candidates handed out strings of beads and Moon Pies instead of meaningless accusations and empty promises. But even if they did vote, the hanging chads would most likely get in the way of an accurate count.

So let's shred the ballots into confetti, don our feathered masks and take to the streets in protest of a system that is hopelessly outdated for a modern country. It wouldn't be the first time that "feathered savages" changed the history of America. I'll meet you on Burbon Street.

Hail to the King and Queen of Mardi Gras!

Trashy Americans

2008-01-30T14:11:00.001-05:00

Sometimes I get the gut feeling that suburban Americans have more in common than we’d like to admit with those discarded plastic shopping bags one sees littering the side of the road.

You see them everywhere; white, blue, gray; all of them emblazoned with the bold logos of outlet shops and grocery stores. They tangle themselves into the sewer grates. They get hung up on low tree branches and the tailpipes of minivans. They clump together sullenly in the dead ends of alleyways and litter the ground around dumpsters like so much multi-colored confetti.

Like the shopping bags, we suburbanites drift along the highway of progress; buffeted about by the winds of change. Every now and then we get caught up in the slipstream of a technological wonder or scientific breakthrough, but more often than not we get hung up in the briar patches of tradition or weighted down in the oily ditch water of broken dreams and are occasionally being recycled into an exciting new life; possibly as a soda bottle or computer keyboard.

But every now and then one of us breaks free of gravity altogether, and, provided we don't get sucked into a jet engine, soar away to uncharted heights; on our way to becoming something wonderful.

Perceiving the World Kitten

2008-01-11T10:54:00.000-05:00

The way we view the world is changing.

Can you feel it? Can you feel the way reality ripples just under your fingertips? Can you see - just there out of the corner of your eye - the way that solid objects seem to shiver ever so slightly when you're not looking directly at them? Have you looked out of a window and seen a landscape that shouldn't be there, or glimpsed the underlying web of consciousness that connects all living things?

It is as if the paper-thin skin that passes for reality were beginning to tear; to crumble, revealing glimpses of possibilities that are both inspiring and impossible.

What IS reality? It has always been assumed that reality is the world AS IT EXISTS. The world that can be preceived by the senses; the world that can be measured and charted and graphed and labeled according to type and sub-type.

And yet, when you "preceive" something through the senses, all that is happening is that the brain is interpreting electrical signals sent to it by the nerve endings and turning those electrical signals into pictures and scents, sounds and smells and illusions of taste and texture that, when put together, create our virtual view of reality.

In short, everything that you think is real, everything that you think you are is an illusion. IT DOESN'T EXIST - at least not in the way that you've always thought it does.

There is no way to know for certain that the object your brain is telling you is an apple is ACTUALLY an apple, or simply your brain's interpretation of what it is seeing - the "apple" could be an orange - or a kitten - or it could simply be a mass of vibrating molecules that, given their relative distance and reaction to each other cause the brain to "preceive" them as an apple.

No amount of measurements can clarify what it is that is being "seen" or "preceived" because the measurements themselves and the machine that they are being measured on have to be interpreted using the very "senses" that we are trying measure.

So we take it on faith that the apple we just ate was not a kitten, or a yo-yo, but an apple, a fruit with certain chemical and physical properties, and because of certain signals received our boides began to act as if the mass of vibrating molecules we just injested are indeed an apple and any number of chemical and physical changes are initiated accordingly.

Too confusing? Just tell me if after you eat your lunch your stomach begins to mew quietly.

Down the Rabbit Hole

2008-01-07T14:59:00.001-05:00

There are days that don't seem to belong to the usual linear sequence; days that just don't fit.

It is on days like this that you look at something you've looked at every day of your life and realize that you've never truly seen the object before; days when you can see through the illusion and see things as they really are.

On these sorts of days it is as if I have fallen down Alice's Rabbit Hole. It is on these kinds of days that Wonderland is more real to me than the world that my senses perceive, but I find that my sympathies lie not with Alice (who asked for the adventure and then moaned and groaned througout the entire thing) but with the Cheshire Cat.

Like the Cheshire Cat I find myself becoming very still and encompasing all the possibilities that the day has to offer; such wonderful possibilities that I can't take anything seriously and the world becomes a marvelous place indeed.

Boxed-In

2008-01-04T10:27:00.001-05:00

Boxes - by their very nature - are designed to hold things; papers, chocolates, powder, frozen dinners, the list is endless. Boxes come in every shape and size conceivable. Most boxes, at least the ones with any practical sort of value, are designed with a bottom, sides, and a top or lid to keep the box's contents from escaping or spilling. Boxes can be as plain as a cardboard carton or as ornate as a hand-carved teakwood chest, but one thing they all have in common is that they have been designed to confine.

It is rather ironic, given the nature and purposeful design of the box, that Americans, indeed most of those "independent" and "free-spirited" individuals in the free-world, spend most of their lives in boxes of one kind or another.

We live in boxes (albeit insullated boxes with windows and cetral air and heat), but they are boxes nonetheless. We drive to work in small boxes that have wheels stuck on underneath. We work in small, cube-like boxes stacked inside of larger boxy office buildings. We exercise in boxes filled with exercise equipment, shop in boxes filled with boxed merchandise and ship boxes of goodies to those we love. We purchase food that is stored in boxes and cook the food in larger boxes. Is it any wonder that we feel boxed-in?

But let me make one thing quite clear: Boxes are Dangerous!

The danger does not lie in the obvious boxes, in the boxes that we see and use every day. The real danger lies in the boxes that we can't see, the boxes whose bottoms are made up of family and religious traditions, whose walls are made up of societal norms and expectations, whose lids are constructed from our acceptance of everything that we have been taught in order to keep our well-ordered lives safe and secure; to keep the contents of our lives from spilling out into the great unknown.

But just try speaking out against the boxes. Better yet, try pointing them out to people. Chances are they will just look at you blankly, as if you are speaking Martian. Those few who understand what you are saying will most likely tell you that these sorts of boxes are necessary in order to maintain a semblance of order; that without them there would be chaos and anarchy; that without them no progress would be made; that there would be no control.

And there lies the real truth. Boxes were designed to confine, to contain. Boxes were designed to impose order on chaos and lend a semblance of organization to anarchy. Boxes, whether of the everyday, ordinary sort that we live in and purchase off the shelf, or the kind that can not be seen but holds us just as firmly as any material box ever could; were designed so that things, places and people, could be controlled.

Do you want to be controlled? Do you want to have someone else deciding what you should do, where you should go, and when you should feel afraid? Then remain in your box, the reality would probably scare you to death.

The truth is that byond the confines of the box there are worlds waiting, ideas laying in wait, truths lurking and mountains of information just waiting to be discovered.

All you have to do is step outside of the box.

Steph

New Years 2008 ~ Hip-Hip - Whatever.

2007-12-28T10:53:00.000-05:00

The New Year approaches.

Actually, New Years, as we know it today, has nothing to do with the actual start of a "new year". The selection of January 1st to mark the beginning of the "New Year" was an arbitrary decision made by the Roman Senate in 156 B.C.E. but the calendar they were using had been tampered with so often by so many different emporers that it was out of wack with the sun. The decision to make January 1st the beginning of the new year was reinforced by Julius Ceaser in 46 B.C.E. with his introduction of the Julian Calendar - Unfortunately, in order to sychronize the calendar with the sun, Ceaser had to let the previous year drag on for 445 days! (I hate to even think how that affected people's birthdays, anniversaries, temple ceremonies etc).

If you think about it, the logical choice for celebrating the "New Year" would be at the Spring Equinox; March 21st. Indeed, for millenia the New Year was celebrated at the Spring Equinox by societies all around the globe. In some places it still is. The of course the Chinese and Jewish New Years are celebrated independently, ignoring both the Julian and Gregegorian calendars and celebrating their own calendars which have been in use far longer than the upstart Romans.

So, what do we do? We pick the dreariest time of the year to make "New Years Resolutions" like loosing weight or saving money etc. Realistically these "resolutions" would have a much better chance of becoming reality if the New Year was celebrated in the Spring - spring is the time of re-birth and growth and the warming of the sun gives us all sorts of energy. Instead we plod along for all of January, trying to begin something new when every natural instinct is telling us to curl up by the fire with a warm drink and a good book.

Hey, it all works out wonderfully for the health industry that does a booming trade in diet supplements (that eventually get tossed) and exercise equipment (that ends up in the basement) and health club memberships (which don't get used much past February). Our contribution to the economy.

God but I hate winter!

Swimming Sideways

2007-12-19T08:58:00.000-05:00

Every morning is the same, I find myself caught up in the current of humanity. Feel it. Can you feel it? Can you feel how it tugs you along? Can you sense the eddies of emotion, the waves of anger and the settled sediment of despair? The undertow of collective emptiness and longing threatens to drag me under and I find myself having to swim sideways to avoid the iron-like strength of its grip.

Swimming sideways is difficult when the schools of dead-eyed corporate and government employees surge ahead, determined to make the next pay-grade increase on the government ladder; to survive the next down-sizing at the office; to prove themselves worthy of recognition. They wear sunglasses to block out unwanted light; earphones to block out unwanted noise; isolating themselves from their surroundings so effectively; concentrating so hard on what is ahead of them that they do not take the time to look around. I have literally been sat on in the Metro by individuals who are so wrapped up in what they are doing (text messaging, scouring files, adjusting iPods etc.) that they do not even check to see if the seat is occupied before they attempt to sit in it.

I watch them. I watch them dash from bus to subway, from subway to shuttle, determined not to waste a moment; wrapped up in their private cocoons; completely oblivious to the new snowflakes that are collecting on their shoulders; to the sillouette of that small leafless tree there against the rising sun; to the way the sunlight is filtering between the blocky buildings and casting stripes of liquid gold across the pavement.

I enjoy recognition as much as the next person, but not at the cost of my soul. And so I swim sideways, fighting the current, making a concerted effort to do my job to the best of my ability while remembering that this is not who I am. this is what I do. There is a difference. It is the difference between maintaining a sense of purpose, and giving in to the never-ending currents that would, if they could, sweep away every ounce of mystery and magic and leave the world as bare as a tide-swept sand-bar.

Just a hamster

2007-12-12T14:19:00.001-05:00

"I am just a hamster in the rat-race of life." ~SSHenry

Nobody likes a rat. Rats are sleek and heartless. Rats rush about in packs. They will stop at nothing to achieve their goals, even if that means stepping all over people and biting their way to the top. No, I want to be a hamster.

Who in their right mind could hate a hamster? Hamster's are cute and fuzzy. They look at you with liquid-black eyes and strike fetching poses and snuggle deep into their sawdust or snuggle up-with their den-mates when they are tired. People dote on hamsters. They give them cages and special toys and special foods and take weird pictures of their hamsters in motorcycle vests or typing at hamster-sized computer terminals. Nobody dotes on rats. Even mice are iffy. No, I want to be a hamster.

If being a hamster means walking to the subway instead of making a mad dash; if it means taking the time to stop and talk to the busker on the street corner even if I don't have any change to spare; if being a hamspter means curling up with my den-mates (and a good book) of an evening instead of fighting the crowds and loud and over-heated public venues; if being a hamster means that I take time to enjoy life instead of just tolerating it, then so be it.

I could be a rat. It would be a simple enough thing to fall into the pattern; to allow myself to be absorbed by the pack. It would certainly make life simpler. But I choose instead to be a hamster.

I am a hamster, and the rats can kiss my whiskers or get the hell out of the way.

The Hamster Revolution Theme Song is below (It has a tune, just hard to upload when its still in my head!)~~~

I am just a hamster In the Rat-Race of Life

A happy fuzzy hamster with no need for hate or strife.

I am just a hamster no need to push or shove.

I am just a hamster who's looking for some love.

You can keep your laptops.

Your slimline PDA's

The earbuds to your iPods

That lend the soundtrack to your days.

I don't need no cellphone to keep my loved ones in my heart

all I do is hold them close and tell them that we'll never part.

(bridge)

I don't need no gormet coffee

Don't need HD TV

Just give me someone

Who thinks the world of me

(keychange)

Just wait and you will see

Why its good to be a hamster

in the rat-race of life

by avoiding hate and conflict

we'll live much richer lives

so choose to be a hamster

throw your fears and cares away.

Grab yourself some sawdust

give up the rat-race for a day.

(second bridge)

'cause you don't need no gormet coffee

you don't need HDTV

At heart you're someone

who can see plain just like me

That its good to be a hamster

in this rat-race of life

As happy fuzzy hamsters we avoid the hate and strife

We are all just hampsters

there's no need to push or shove

join the hamster revolution

and change the world through love!

~SSHenry, 20 December 2007

Cheers!

Steph

Beginning Again

2007-12-11T13:58:00.000-05:00

To those who were following this blog, I apologize. Trust me, I wouldn't have started over again if there hadn't been a good reason. My reason is that I stupidly trusted an internet source for a very cool object to attach to my blog;
a blinking eye. I attached it - and then couldn't get rid of it! No matter what I tried to do, it kept popping back onto my blog. On top of that it ate part of my entries. The eyeball from hell...I must say, after I had tried everything that customer service had reccomended and it was still there, blinking at me, I began to get a little creeped out. I began to get the feeling that maybe I hadn't just downloaded a string of code, but some sort of marvolent spirit. That it was watching me...waiting...

Ended up deleting the entire blog (only four entries so far, but still!!!) So please, bear with me, I'll have these entries updated in a blink.

Cheers
Steph