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Just a dream?

26 Jul

I’m a pretty practical, feet-on-the-ground sort of person.  That doesn’t mean that I don’t have my otherworldly moments though.

It’s 4 a.m. and I woke up after a most peculiar dream.

It’s not like the usual dream for me, in which a life event is relived or something innocuous and normal is played out.  It wasn’t a case of working out a problem in my dreams either.  This wasn’t even one of the weird singing chickens or babies in loaves of bread dreams.

This was like some kind of star crossed romance dream.

Sometimes, when I dream, I’m not “me” as in the normal everyday me.  In my dreams, I’ll often look at my feet to see if it is me, and if it is me…when it was me.  Yeah, it’s weird, but feet are easy to see and as identifiable as faces when it’s your own pair.  Sometimes, it’s not me, not in this lifetime at least.

I didn’t look at my feet.  Ever.  In this dream.  So, I don’t know who it was or if it was even anyone I know.

In the dream, the “hero” was a Native American drummer, and he happened to be almost totally deaf.  Sometimes, he would play a flute too.  He was a strong sort of hero, but he had his hidden, more sensitive side too.  I was hitchhiking with the heroine, the object of his affections.

They weren’t a young couple.  They’d been around the block a bit, and life hadn’t been kind to either one.  Somehow, they encountered each other and a cautious romance had begun.  Both had been bitten hard in previous relationships, which isn’t uncommon in the older crowd.  We don’t age unsullied by romance gone bad.

The dream is fragmented in my memory as I write this–it’s funny how a vivid dream begins to fade as the dreamer wakes, but it does.

There was a beautiful beaded tunic that had belonged to his previous partner/wife/girlfriend, which was given to the heroine.  It fit her, and was beautiful, but there was a bitter-sweetness to the tunic’s fit too.  The hero’s sister, roughly the same age as the  couple, had gotten it out and had the heroine put it on.

The deaf drummer sang a song, and it was heart-wrenching to hear him sing.  It was perfectly pitched, a difficult thing for a deaf singer, I suspect.  His song showed her how he heard things through his limited hearing somehow.

He heard things in a different way, he explained it.  The sounds of feet and hooves, the wind, engines…they all were distinct to him.  He also explained otherworldly characters to her, giving names to them.  There was one that I remember.  They were scary looking to her, inspiring near terror.  They were like tall narrow piles of mud with faces, and he called them the Urdu.  (I looked up Urdu, and this is a language spoken in Pakistan  today.  I couldn’t find any variation of the sounds that gave me any other search result either.)  He cautioned her from speaking to them or acknowledging them, as to do so would lessen her ability to connect with him, to be his true love, and she would have to conquer her fear of them as part of the trials and tribulations of being his partner.  There were other things too, of this otherworldly nature, that she had to conquer her fear of, for he had strong otherworldly connections.

Ultimately, their relationship was fracturing, and was doomed to destruction, partly because of his inability to allow her into his life.  A young man, 20something, was taking a table apart and explaining how taking the table apart ended a relationship.  (I don’t get how a table equates relationship/marriage, but in the dream, it did.)  The heroine then lifted up large pieces of a table top, completely unlike the fitted together squares that had formed the younger man’s table top, and took out things that had been pressed between the layers, including photographs, magazines written in a foreign language she did not speak, clippings, and other papers.  She would sort and stack the papers, and the young man took them away.  Finally, the older hero arrives and takes the foreign language magazines, exhibiting a holier-than-thou attitude over the magazines and the fact that she does not understand that language.

Sometimes, with a dream, we can find meaning that can help us with our lives.  It isn’t always immediately apparent.  Other times, no matter how long or how hard we search, there is no meaning to be gleaned from the dreams.  I’m not sure where this dream would be filed yet.

Certain key points are apparent, though.  One is this concept of star crossed or doomed love.  Another is that the heroine is being forced to try to live up to impossible standards and ignore things that are terrifying to her with little support from her partner, that was played over and over as she was faced with various supernatural entities that were scary at best.   Another was that the heroine was being pushed by others into wearing the same clothing (the tunic) of the previous partner of her object of affection.  That indicates to me that she is being forced into a pigeonhole that may not actually fit as well as it appears it does.  Next, the disassembly of the table really correlates with the disassembly of a relationship, and that is actually explained by the younger man who is busy with his own disassembly of a relationship.  She then proceeds to disassemble her relationship with the man, whom she does still love, by the way.  She takes the layers apart, and sorts out the memories (the papers, photos, etc.) which are then taken away.  Finally, the hero appears for one last taunt: he illustrates the holier-than-thou attitude about taking away the things that make no sense at all to the heroine.

It puzzles me that none of this pertains to me, at all.  My husband isn’t deaf.  He’s not a drummer.  Our relationship isn’t fracturing. I can’t even imagine him taking this kind of an attitude towards me.  So why did I have the dream?

Sometimes, it’s as though I’m either watching someone else’s dream or something.  It’s one of the weird ones, that while I can interpret it, I can’t match the dream’s meaning with anything in my own life right now.  Maybe I’m wrong.

Then again, maybe I’m not, and it just wasn’t my dream.

With all of that said and done, I hope I can go back to sleep–it’s hours until dawn!



Weird day and I haven’t had much sleep

12 Sep

Okay, I’m going to qualify this with the statement that I might have slept about two hours last night, and it wasn’t in a row either.

With the inability to sleep aside, it’s a weird day.

First of all, my laptop, or rather the one pressed into service when mine died in July, got hit with the update thing last night.  No big deal other than a laborious restart, right?


It’s having seizures over something it calls “desktop update”.  Never mind that every other computer updated without a problem.  Mine has to have seizures because it’s Murphy’s Law.  Unlike Greg, everything I work on is computer local, not net based or network based.   Sure, I can recover my files, but I am still clinging to hope that we can undo the malfunction somehow.  Mostly because if we can’t, I’m sort of screwed.  I don’t have the money to replace the laptop right now.  That was why I was using that one–mine had died.

So I’m using a desktop computer.  Nothing wrong with that other than I don’t have much workspace.  It’s also not set up specifically for me, which means I cannot work on it very long at a time.  So, while I watch, rather irritated too, the bar on the laptop, it goes through repair routines.  Ones that should take 15 minutes are taking hours to do.

But that’s not all.

I have this really odd sensation in my hand.  Greg and I don’t wear our wedding bands.  Not for some unusual spiritual reason, but rather because of a very practical one.  We’ve both had rings smashed onto our fingers, and he’s seen people lose fingers when a ring hung up on something.  Even without having a finger ripped off, having a ring smashed onto your finger that requires tools to remove is not pleasant.  So…our wedding rings reside in the jewelry box.  We rarely wear them.

But today, I keep actually FEELING a ring on that finger.  I can feel something pressing against the fingers beside it too.  It’s a phantom sensation, but even when I am looking at my fingers, I still have the physical sensation of it being there.  For some reason, it has an ominous feeling for me, but I have no idea why a phantom ring would be ominous.

If someone else told me they were experiencing that, I’d ask them if they were contemplating doing something that would jeopardize their marriage, and it was a nudge to remind them of their commitment.  I’m not, and I know that without a shadow of a doubt.  The next thing to question was whether someone else was potentially threatening their marriage.

I’m not seeing that either.

I am just left with this weird uneasiness, and I’m trying to tell myself that it is just a case of aggravation combined with lack of sleep.  I am surely just making a mountain out of a molehill.

But this sense of foreboding IS pretty creepy.


The Facebook Bubble

18 Apr

There are rumors flying that the Facebook bubble is about to burst, that it has exceeded its own growth potential, resulting in a speedy demise.

Maybe it has, and maybe it hasn’t.  I’m not an expert, but…I am smart enough to learn from the past.  That’s what history is for, isn’t it?

We have had a lot of bubbles related to the internet.  The dot com bubble burst some time ago.  MySpace, once the king of social networking, is pretty much history.  I have an account, but I have logged into it about twice in the last three years.  Even then, it was just to connect with someone who hadn’t moved on to Facebook, not because I cared about my own account.  I didn’t like it much, and I found it awkward and with an excessively youthful nature.  Facebook suited me better, with a more run of the mill air about it as Every Man and Every Woman took to it like ducks to water.  Now, I actually know some people who think the internet IS Facebook, never leaving its comforting pages to wander unfettered through the digital universe we have collectively created.

At the same time, people aren’t going to magically abandon Facebook unless something better comes along.  Google presented us with Google Plus, then disappointed many users as it adopted more and more features that resembled those of Facebook.  We hadn’t flocked to it for a Facebook replacement, we had flocked there to find something DIFFERENT.  Somehow, I think it may have failed to deliver what we were craving, although it does have some of the features people seek.

So what do people want?

That is the million dollar question really.  In general, among the people I have approached , they want some specific things:

Ability to connect with others with similar ideas/interests.

Ability to control how much information is made public.

Ability to integrate and yet separate their private and public personas.  (Yes, they are different!  We all have our pro side, and then we have the side who gets depressed, eats a quart of ice cream, a whole bag of chips, and vegs on the sofa for an entire weekend in their pajamas…featuring My Little Pony on the bodice.  Do we really want our co-worker and clients s to see our angst?)

The ability to share things, especially cute kittens and political  memes.  Oh, and their opinions, of course.  Often.  Without.  Thinking.

The real kicker is that it is hard to keep public and private separate, and yet it is very important.  More and more companies want to take a look at who you are on Facebook before..and after….hiring you.  There have been cases where they wanted the passwords as well, even before hiring you.  (Not sure how legal that really is, and I would object strongly, but desperation in this job market probably inspired many applicants to just give in.)  Law enforcement is looking harder at this information as well, and many people suspect that the government spies on us all continually through social media.  If so, I hope they enjoy the recipes and cute animal pictures  that litter my posts.  Oh, and MouseHunt, the one game that I keep on playing.

So, that big mysterious agency, which is called Big Undercover Liberty Limiting Special Host of Investigating Technicians (BULLSHIT for short) is watching our every tweet and post, whether its on Google Plus, Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, or Secret Text Updating Data Inside Technology (aka STUPID) status update in search of covert, illegal, or terrorist activities.  That’s a big job, and it’s an important one.  After all, not even the super snooping capabilities of the latest CARNIVORE government spyware program can detect and analyze the language used inside of a cute kitten meme.  They have even found it necessary to put undercover agents into the dating sites in search of terrorists and anarchists who are using these sites to find women to marry and then obtain legal status to continue their illegal activities in the United States.

Sure they are.

The US is notorious, world wide, for their strong stance against illegal entry compared to other countries.

And I have a couple of bridges for sale, one on each coast of the USA, been in the family for a long time…

Go try sneaking into Mexico, China, North Korea, or heck, even sneak into Iraq while  you are at it.  After you have your “vacation” they’ll send you home, free of charge, right?


But that’s okay, we’re okay with that.  Just like we’re okay with the way Facebook is going.  Never mind that we’re already suspicious of their marketing techniques and desires to use our names and images to promote other goods and services.  We’ll happily go along with it, until the rats all find another ship to jump to.  All we have to do is figure out which ship will be the one they choose, so we’re riding along with our own cheese store, right?

At least  we know what it won’t be.  It won’t be Yahoo, MSN, AOL, MySpace, or G+.  Will it simply fracture apart, as people opt to leave the ultra populated space for smaller, more intimate and more user-responsive versions of social media?

Actually, I think that’s what I would place my bet on.  As shifts occur in how we interact, obtain our information and entertainment, how we shop, and where we work, we’re going to see that continual evolution.  Chat programs, while now usually subscription based, are becoming increasingly popular, and often oriented to topic or demographic data oriented.  We want our information and written entertainment also delivered digitally, and that creates another mode of connection.

That makes me wonder.  What if Amazon introduced a social media program, one that allowed people to discuss types of products, literary works by genre, etc.?  Would we see the rise of that type of social media connection, one provided by the seller of goods as a way to encourage people to continue shopping via their website rather than to venture into the “real world” with all of its inconveniences, expenses and dangers?

Or maybe we’ll see the right wing control factor coming into play, and instead of corporations operating the social media, it will become a government sponsored, controlled, and monitored environment.  We’ll all be tagged with our personal data, preventing any more mysterious encounters, as well as encounters of the really dangerous sort that we’ve all heard about.

The ancient Chinese may have regarded “May you live in interesting times” as a curse, but it’s our mantra.  We do live in interesting times, and who knows how they’ll be regarded in the future.  Are we going to be immortalized in unrealistic works of fiction that equate this era to the Wild Wild West that really never was what the movies portray it as?

That could be too.  All I know is that we’re going to see changes, some from evolution, others from reactionary governments.  We’ll see how our data is delivered and censored change, as well as who delivers what will change.  The wild and utterly independent voices of today’s internet radio may be silenced in the coming years, as expenses continue to rise as economies continue to struggle.  We don’t know.

But, it will definitely be interesting to watch and find out, won’t it?


Unsettling dreams…

7 Feb

Black dogs.  All of them big, but that’s about where the similarities end.  Well, maybe one more thing…they all seem to be short haired.

I’m a bit weary of dreaming about them and their companions.  I’d say that someone was trying to send me a message, but unfortunately, I’m not speaking this form of symbolism.  Some want to tear me limb from limb, others want to play, and some just sit with me.  A few look at me, as though waiting for…something.  Some are alone, others have companions, and the rest of the story line varies from one dream to the next.  There isn’t any pattern between them.

A few times, that insane Mall From Hell reappears, as well as the man with the tattooed head.  At least HE is consistent–he’s always a “good guy”, on my side.  I just wish he was a little less cryptic and more forthcoming with information about what on earth is going on, even in that dream.  Sometimes, I wonder if he is a real person, that’s how often I’ve seen him.  Sometimes Greg or other family members appear in the dreams as well.

Searching for “black dog dreams” on the internet hasn’t provided me with any insight.  I was hoping to clarify the message I wasn’t understanding, since I wasn’t getting anywhere with the imagery on my own.  The meanings I found indicated that something was in my house, something evil, or that I was being threatened in some way.  I don’t feel threatened.  No one else is picking up on this sense of evil foreboding, so I’m inclined to dismiss that interpretation of the dreams’ symbolism.

Such vivid dreams since the beginning of the year, yet nothing that makes sense or creates a sense of continuity with the concepts being communicated to me.  That statement is true whether its my subconscious or some paranormal aspect inspiring the dreams.  I’m not one of those people who assigns all dreams into the paranormal realm–all too often, our dreams are simply our subconscious communicating with us in one of the few manners that it can.  That doesn’t mean that dream symbolism is irrelevant, because it is very relevant.  It does mean that standard definitions of what a particular symbol means just does not work because each person assigns different meanings to things.  Even so, when all else fails, standard definitions can help provide clarity to our dreams’ messages.  One example is dreaming about appearing in public naked–it is almost universally interpreted as meaning a fear of exposure.  What that fear of exposure really is, however, is very individual.

Logging your dreams and looking at them over a period of time can be a great aid in figuring out what they mean.   This is more important than we think, because this can be messages from our subconscious indicating what is wrong with our lives, be it illness, stress, or whatever.  Using those messages can help us become happier and healthier.

The world’s greatest psychic

6 Nov

I know the world’s greatest psychic medium.

She knows everything, or used to.  For some reason, her amazing powers have diminished with age.  Maybe it’s reduced desire or need that has caused her powers to begin to withdraw from the heavy duty work she saw in the 60s and 70s.  She was amazingly accurate most of the time.

Even so, few people have heard of her.

She was my mother.

Well, she still IS my mom.  She’s just not as busily psychic and being mom as she used to be.

Do I have proof of her abilities?

Of course not.  Like anybody documents the stuff their mom says!

Things my mom said that came true:

  • Someday, you won’t want to help me anymore.  Yep, she was right.  Someday, I was going to have other things I considered more important than helping her with housework or cooking dinner.
  • Someday, you are going to grow up.  This one was true too, but she forgot the growing “out” part.  Why didn’t she predict I’d have a slim waistline and never have to worry about it?
  • You are going to get hurt if you keep doing that.  Oh, I can’t count the times that she was right on this one.  I have scars on the top of my head from a rake colliding with my head after I had the idea of hanging it in the tree.  I have assorted scars and aches and pains from other occasions when she was right too.  She really called this one.
  • You are going to have a daughter who gives you ten times what you gave me.  Oh, why couldn’t she have cursed me with a docile and obedient daughter who was good looking, smart, neat, well mannered, and socially adept too?  That perfect child like all my friends supposedly had…instead of a blond headed little firecracker who knew what she wanted and would figure out how to get it.  Then again, I’d have missed the opportunity to be loved by that blond headed firecracker too.  Even so, I have plenty of gray hair to attest to that ten fold remark.
  • One day, we’re going to have a black president.  She was right here too, but it wasn’t because she voted for him.  At least I don’t think so.  Maybe she did?  I’ll never know for sure, now will I?

Some of her predictions haven’t come true…yet.  Things like:

  • We’ll have a woman as president.  We have only had a few even run as vice presidential candidates, and the only serious contender for the president was Hillary Clinton.  Personally, I doubt she is going to run again, but…I think she was a capable person who would have likely done a good job.  After all, she had the rare opportunity to do eight years of back seat driving, now didn’t she?  I’d probably vote for her too.  On the other hand, the vice president add-ons that were women weren’t that impressive.  I can’t remember even what Geraldine Ferraro looked like.  I didn’t even realize she had passed away in 2011 until I looked her up online.  Sarah Palin…well, I’m not a conservative of that flavor.  I wasn’t enthusiastic, to say the least.  I honestly thought John McCain made a critical error in choosing her as a running mate.  I still think so.  The media turned Palin into a clown, and he was her puppet as the campaign progressed.  I have no idea who the next woman candidate would possibly be–no one has emerged in the political news that has caught my attention as a “oh yeah I can vote for her” kind of candidate.  Like a lot of people, while I’d love to have a feminine president, I’m not willing to vote for anyone wearing a skirt to make that happen.  It’s got to be someone who can do the job.
  • We’ll have a colony on the moon and Mars.  We’re a long ways from this one.  We’ve not been to the moon in decades, and never have sent a man to Mars.  I’m not so confident about this one.  We may likely have a woman president before this happens.
  • There will be another world war, and we’ll be in it.  This is one that I hope she was wrong about.  Really wrong.  I’m going to work towards having peace and making her wrong.  No one in their right mind wants this one to be correct.

Moms.  They are all the world’s greatest psychics, but what makes a great psychic?  In my case, it was the fact that my mother usually found out about any shenanigans I’d been involved in pretty fast.  Sometimes before I got home, other times before the following school day ended, and she knew.  Then, there was the consequences to face.  I think the worst one was when she was disappointed in me.  I still do.

I consider myself lucky to have my mother.  I love her, I admire her, and I think of her as my friend.  She’s known me all my life, after all.  No matter what I do, she still loves me, even when she’s upset at my choices.  We disagree on a lot of things, and agree on a lot of other things.  Often, we merely agree to disagree, and leave the topic alone.  Some sleeping dogs are best left that way, it seems.  She’s not  young anymore, and it’s just as hard to accept that as it is to realize that I am also “ever so much more than twenty.”  Heck, even my own daughter is now “ever so much more than twenty.”  I’m a grandma, and my mother is a great grandma four times over, with three great granddaughters and one great grandson.

I’ve learned over time.  When I was angry because of the decisions that she made that weren’t the right ones, she still was trying to make the best decision she could with the information that she had available to her at the time.  None of her decisions were made because she didn’t care, ever.  I learned this by walking in those same shoes, and making decisions that maybe weren’t the best ones, but they were the best ones I could make with the available information.  I learned that some of the things she chose weren’t because she didn’t believe in me, but rather that she couldn’t believe that other people would betray either her or me in that situation.

I couldn’t learn these things without being a mom myself.  For some perverse reason, it was one of those things that there is no class to take, no book to read, no list of rules to follow.  You have to do it the hard way.  No kid arrives with an owner’s manual, and they are all different models.  They usually have entirely different operating systems too.  You wing it, learning as  you go.  You do the best as you can, worry a lot, cry some, laugh some, and sometimes, you are as proud and thrilled as can be.

Not even the greatest psychic in the world could have predicted that I’d lose a child myself.  She couldn’t give me an owner’s manual on how to cope with the grief and guilt and sorrow and everything else that floods you while you are grieving.  She did prepare me to cope with what life sent my way as best as she could though, and was always there to share the pain and joy alike.

I had my day as the world’s greatest psychic too.  I don’t think I made as ,many momentous predictions as my mother did.  I know I did repeat the ten fold one though, and guess what?  I’m the grandmother to a little blond haired toddler that shows signs of being a firecracker too.  She reminds me a lot of the uncle she never got to meet as well, with her ability to love so unconditionally, without prejudice or reservation.  I love that little girl to death, and I put my flour out of reach.  I still remember how far her uncle could spread a few cups of flour through a kitchen…vividly.  The vegetable oil is up too.  I remember having to figure out how to clean up a few GALLONS of accidentally spilled vegetable oil off of a kitchen floor.  (Spread newspapers over the mess, soak it up, bag the papers, and repeat.  When it’s no longer slippery with oil, lay another layer of paper on the floor and leave it there for several hours before scrubbing the floor with soap and water.  Voila!  It’s all gone!)  Crayons are kept on top of the refrigerator, and issued one at a time.  I didn’t need to remember this one, she’s illustrated her imagination at home a few times.  I’m too old to make a toddler stand and scrub it all off of the wall while crying these days.  Besides, I’m the grandma now, I get to say things like “that’s okay honey.”  i can let her have cake for breakfast too…even if she only eats the frosting off of the top.  I don’t have to be responsible anymore.  That is what parents are for!

And it’s her mom’s turn to become the world’s greatest psychic.

The God Badge

4 Sep

I often contemplate the whole concept of God.   It doesn’t matter what name you give it, whether it is Allah, Jehovah, God, The Creator, The One, The Source, The God Head, whatever…it’s really the same concept.  A great source of the beginning, the spark that made us…the one and only source.

I watch other people with their evangelical practices, their recruitment to their particular flavor of religion.  I watch the play of politics and religion, and am somewhat horrified at the play of war for the benefit of God too.

So many people feel a need to announce to the world what name they call God, how they worship, and which flavor they are of worshiper.  It’s like some badge they have to wear in order to assure themselves that God knows they believe.  Does that badge make any difference really?

So…we are scheduled for this increased awareness event, this spiritual evolution for 2012…and all those who can’t make the leap to higher consciousness are going to get left behind.  Is that badge going to guarantee you a seat on that upgrade jet?

I mean seriously, do you think God cares if you post on Facebook that you believe in God?  Twitter?  Do you really think God has time for such trivial nonsense as Facebook and Twitter and Foursquare and whatever?  Do you think He cares what you say there?  Is your announcement that you believe in God going to cause any kind of change in yourself or anyone else?

It always reminds me of that old saying…if a man tells you how religious he is…or how honest he is…grab your wallet.

The truly religious, the truly devout, and the truly spiritual aren’t concerned about announcing to others that they are.

So what does all of this badge wearing, sign waving religion all about?

It’s about separatism, its about superiority, it’s about segregation.  It’s about creating friction.

To put it in very fundamentalist terms…this God badge is really a tool of the devil to create discord and strife.  As long as all of these religious factions are divided, despite their true unity with a single God, there will be strife and war and death and aggravation.  If they ever focus on their commonalities rather than their differences, there would truly be a wonderful peaceful world.  What better tool for the negativity that exists than to ensure that these factions stay at war with each other?

It’s scary to see the God Badge coming out in the presidential race too.  It makes me think of the old days with the British and their Church of England versus the Roman Catholic Church going back and forth.  I wonder…what is the religious majority these days in the USA, and what will this mean?  Will it mean that we’re allowed religious freedoms or will they be curtailed?

Maybe I’m a worrywart but then again, I start thinking about this cliche.  “When they came for the Jews, I said nothing, for I was not a Jew.  When they came for the homosexuals, I said nothing, for I was not a homosexual.  When they came for the infirm, I said nothing, for I was not infirm.  When they came for the gypsies, I said nothing, for I was not a gypsy.  When they came for the foreigners, I said nothing, for I was not a foreigner.  When they came for me, no one was left to say anything.”

Tolerance is sometimes a careful balance, and it seems the scales tip this way and that.  Too much tolerance, and we cease to have an identity or any rules.  Too little, and we’re living in fear of our government.  We need to find our balance.  We need tolerance…within reason, and that reason seems to have flown the coop, resulting in a backlash sort of reaction.

Backlashes can kill too.  

Reactionary government and society at large are a liability.  Lets get real, folks.  We don’t need the God Badge, God already knows and that’s the only one that matters.

2012, the Beatles, knifemaking, moldmaking, and folk art

25 Aug

How’s that for an assortment?

What could these things possibly have in common?

I don’t have a clue.  Do I have to?

I guess the real core of the matter boils down to some simple facts.

  • I’ve never been a Beatles fan.  Sure they had great music, but…there’s a lot of great musicians out there.
  • 2012…nobody knows if it means a danged thing, we all have to wait for its arrival to find out.
  • Knifemaking…a hobby I have never personally been interested in.  Sure, I use knives, but making them?
  • Folk art…that’s one area I have had a life long interest in.  Textiles, carving, painting, woodcraft, outsider art…yeah, I’m there.

Outside of that, these have been recent areas of study for me.  Along with Audubon, modern painting techniques, traditional Native American motifs, and plants.

It is as though my mind has become a dry sponge and I’m desperately seeking the moisture of knowledge.

I think the local library has my number on speed dial.  I’m either there or they are calling me to let me know new material I have requested has arrived.  I think that’s one of the best innovations in libraries I’ve seen since micro-fiche (yeah, I’m old…)  I can go online and request books from the county library system.  Now…if I can only figure out how the inter-library loan system works…

But first, the county has a lot of materials for me to absorb.  I’m working diligently on it too.  In addition to skimming 3-4 books on paranormal topics, reading an average of 1 per week, I’m also reading an average of 20 non-fiction books per week plus I’ve recently decided to add at least one fiction book per week to my repertoire.

I guess all of that absorbing is why I’ve also been online less, writing less, and just plain goofing off less.  Why this sudden starved-for-knowledge state?  That’s the real mystery.  I’m reading like its my last chance to learn this stuff, and I am going to need a very broad base of knowledge on which to stand.

Why do I need this base to stand on?

Who knows.  We can get all paranoid about the upcoming changes in the world, and lay the blame at its feet.

I still can’t see why the Beatles would have been important, other than they were a reflection of the times, a public symbol of the things that were going on from WWII until the 1970…and even beyond.  At the same time, when you truly LOOK at the Beatles, those 4 young men were sadly isolated from fun, from the world, and from interacting normally with anyone.  They were imprisoned within their popularity, and the masses would literally have torn them to shreds if it wasn’t for the efforts of security and law enforcement. Perhaps the message is there.

As a species, we destroy what we love the most.

Right there, we have a message about our own fate.  Supposedly, if we are not right with the world, if we are not living as we should, if we aren’t of higher consciousness…we won’t make the transition, instead being left to live out our days on this planet as it turns into a living hell.

If we look at the Beatles in a symbolic sense, one that I’m sure those four men would have found absolutely hilarious, but nonetheless, it works uncannily well…they were consumed by their own passion, their own capacity to express love, and as an act of self preservation…came apart at the seams.

Today, Ringo Starr is 72, and Paul McCartney is 69.  Somehow, even I wonder how they got that old, even though when I was a teenager, they were already “old” in my generation’s eyes.  Rock now has its seniors, and I’m snapping at their heels as I bring up the rear of the baby boom generation.  The other two Beatles are dead, one by violence, the other by cancer.  The two survivors, by some odd coincidence, happen to be vegetarians.  I look at video clips of them performing, and I wonder if that isn’t a key to their senior vitality.

Makes me wonder about a dream sequence I had long ago, in reference to my being an “eater of flesh.”

A look at my budget makes me wonder about the financial implications of remaining an omnivore, and the reality of the matter is that meat no longer forms much of our diet, and when it does…it’s normally fish or poultry.  Living on the coast, it would be easy to abandon red meat and poultry, and stick to solely consuming fish and seafood as our “meat.”  Then…my mind pops off to the BP Oil Spill, the dispersent chemicals, and the continuing debate about the safety of the Gulf waters.  I go back and forth between its safe and it’s not so safe.  I look at the bayou as we ride in our little flat bottomed jon boat, and watch the birds and grasses too.  They look pretty good to me.

But what do I know anyhow?

But back to the Beatles…

As part of their late-Beatles history, there is the fact that they all came into contact with Eastern religions and mysticism.  Do I think all of the answers lay with these ideas?  No, just like I figure that if all of the ancients were so darned smart, why are their cultures all dead?

Nothing lasts forever.  Not even the Beatles did.

But at the same time, those who fail to remember, and learn from, their history…are doomed to repeat it.  This world has seen one culture after another rise and then crumble away, sometimes to linger in memory and fable, and other times, perhaps never be remembered at all.  What have we learned?

I’m afraid its not a darned thing.

We think we’re better than the Romans, the Greeks, the Egyptians, the Czars, the Toltecs, the Mayans, the Incas…and even Atlanteans and people of Mu.  We’re civilized and technological and so advanced…

Maybe I better set aside more time for meditation.

Then again, do I want to progress…and leave those I love behind?  I mean…how can my grand daughter possibly raise her consciousness?  She’s still working at getting food to her mouth, raising her consciousness isn’t an issue yet.

I tell people often.  I’m getting pretty darned good at questions.

I also tell them, I wish I was still as smart as I was when I was 18 and knew everything.

Sometimes, this whole living thing is crazy, just about the time we start making progress, start figuring things out and which way to go, our bodies start to fall apart and our minds start getting sluggish.  It’s not FAIR.

So I stomp my feet and rage at the Ladies of Fate, up there in the clouds in their jury box ala Ironsides.  They can quit pitching stuff at me any time, I’m needing everything I’ve got now just to go the distance with anything resembling grace.  I’m getting old too, and I wasn’t ready for that.  I can’t run a mile to save my own hide.  I tried swimming, and discovered that I can’t do that anymore either.

I still remember when on a dare, I swam across the lake, just to prove I could.  Of course, I also remember that terrifying sensation when as a teenager, I leaped into a canal to swim across…and discovered a current that was horrifyingly powerful was sweeping me downstream faster than I could have ran alongside.  I made it, and swore I’d never do anything so stupid again.

The lesson there?  Fear is sometimes a wise adviser, and Fear can also be your worst enemy when you ignored its first warning.  Let the fear go, and just keep kicking.

That advice served me well when a former boyfriend tried to strangle me one night.  He nearly succeeded.  When I kicked him the last time, I had long since lost the ability to see or hear, everything had gone black, that last kick was the very last movement I was going to make on this planet, so I better make it the best damned kick I could.  It worked, and that was the sweetest breath of air ever drawn.

No, I didn’t go to the police…it would have been his word against mine, and an overwhelming “she must have deserved it” sentiment.  After all, I was alive, so he couldn’t have been too serious about it.  A lot of things have changed since those days, and for the better.  “The Good Old Days” had their downside too.

So, I’m back to my books.  There’s a lot more to learn while I can.