Just Kittens

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“But ambition is a funny thing: it creeps in when you least expect it and keeps you moving, even when you think you want to stay put.”   ~  Lena Dunham

I don’t feel up to writing this morning, so I give you kittens. That’s a pretty good deal, if you ask me. More tomorrow.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

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Perception Management and Elves

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“Superstition would seem to be simply cowardice in regard to the supernatural.”   ~  Theophrastus

Of my morning reading my favorite piece was actually a video, but it harkened back to an article I read some weeks ago, about the role of elves in Iceland. This may sound like a joke but it is not. I do feel that there is merit in the belief in elves and faeries and that sort of stuff (I almost wrote “things of that ilk” but I do not like the word ‘ilk’). I cannot actually call my own relationship with said stuff belief because I have experienced things that allude to the Faerie reality. There is something to it, and I reckon that science will eventually catch up to the phenomenon. Parallel realities and the sometimes ability to see through to them might be worthy of consideration. My own NDE journey might well be an example of this but NDEs have as of yet been relegated to anecdotal status. There are scientists who are looking for proof beyond anecdote but no one has come out with results. I have no doubt that this will change before too long. But until then? Elves and NDEs aren’t real. Another article I read this morning talked about a surge in the Christian publishing genre of “Heaven tourism”. Listen here folks, you are not helping things at all. Knock it off! Although I must admit the image of Jesus riding a rainbow pony is a really nice touch. Keep in touch, k? We’ll talk, do lunch.

Yes, I really do think of such things. I’ve been juggling magical thinking against “reality-based” thinking for many years now. It’s a struggle, but then I remember that Donald Rumsfeld said that we create our own reality. He really said that. No wait, he actually said that; there is a difference. Donald, I like your concept of perception management but I do not think it means what you think it means. I mean, nobody lets all of their socks get dirty and stay dirty just because the elves might steal one from the dryer. Ponder that, sir! Well, I guess I could buy some new socks, right?

I’d better wrap it up for the day, get beyond blogging, and then on down to the place where they pay me to give service to cats. They say that cats are magical beings, and that they can see things we don’t see. Big deal, right? Advertising folks and promotors do that too but that don’t make them visionaries, although some may turn out to be if their vision takes hold. Stop! I must get off of this topic and go to work. I must go to them cats. Hmmm, no wait. Can they see me coming? If they do it is simply conditioning, training. Regardless, certainly, whatever, they always greet me cheerfully at the door. And  .  .  .  Donald Rumsfeld you just get out of my head, and stay out!

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

The Wild Self and the Imaginal World

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“Imagination is the golden-eyed monster that never sleeps. It must be fed; it cannot be ignored.”  ~  Patricia A. McKillip

I can’t say enough about Scraggly, the huge tomcat you see in today’s opening photo. When I do a welfare check on all of the cats in the cattery I go into Scraggly and Stella’s cage and walk up to Scraggly. With no hands or paws we touch foreheads and hold the contact for a few seconds. The intimacy is beyond words. I love the big fella. Right now, the rooster is quite vocal this morning. Yesterday he seemed to be in a more contemplative, quiet mood. I just now had to close the window because his shrill proclamations were truly bugging me. The big news is that I heard coyotes this morning, and it was one of those big party things where they sound like they are celebrating something; a kill, or maybe just being together on a beautiful still dark morning. I’m with them on that. When I heard their cries emerge from silence I sighed as if in great relief. That says a lot about me these days – reunion with my wild self is at hand. That wild self is also where the mundane material world connects with the imaginal world. I’m all about the imaginal world these days; archetypes is what I am saying. The coyotes said it just right, a couple of hours ago. They raised and aroused the world of dreams, healing, recovery, and visionary grace. Imagine that. That and two cups of coffee are all I need on this Sunday. The day shall be a good one. I have work to do, weatherproofing the wooden beams of a ramada, out on some high ground on the mesa. I’ve already assessed the job. The view from atop that ramada is truly spectacular. You can see Taos down in the valley, the Brazos out west, the Sacred Mountain, and many more things than I can’t really describe. This place is big and full of things that spark the imagination. But imagination and the imaginal world are not quite the same. I cannot go into that right now. The day awaits, during which I shall toil beneath Summer’s piercing sunlight. Part of the beauty will be how the sunlight will stimulate the production of serotonin in my body. I’ve had several consecutive down days, really shadowy stuff, and serotonin tends to raise the physical component of depression back up out of the leaden places it goes. Ugh. Maybe a third cup of coffee would be a good idea. Friggin cat woke me up at 3 AM as she so often does. As for that other cat, Scraggly? Dude’s been through it alright. He reminds me to remember that I too have been through it.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

A Simple Case of Black and White

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“You look at where you’re going and where you are and it never makes sense, but then you look back at where you’ve been and a pattern seems to emerge.”  ~  Robert Pirsig

The rooster is late. It is now 5:30 AM and he is just getting to it. But his crow is strong. The guy must have had some good rest. Now, yesterday was odd throughout. The dead skunk at the foot of the gate started it off. The gate in and out of the yard is wooden, and at the foot of it a small plank is nailed to keep critters from entering the yard. That’s where the skunk was. The white and black caught my eye immediately as I stepped through the gate and my instincts told me it was alive. It was not. That was a relief. Obviously, a blunt force trauma had finished him off; certainly a bad one too. I won’t describe the injury beyond saying that it was red and fresh. That he was laying right where I was about to step made me decide to stop believing in omens, for at least one day. I got over it, no worries. But I guess the biggest mystery, beyond possible omen-ness, was where exactly he might have gotten such an injury so early in the morning, when there was zero traffic on the road, and signs of anyone who might have whacked him a good one. I felt sad.

As for the dream I have been nurturing, and writing about in tads, it has flowed perfectly into my daily life. I don’t know what I would do without dreams, especially the ones that turn out differently than expected. Of course it is expectation that creates the misguidance. We live, we learn, and the dreams that do come offer resilience where we might otherwise choose a different course. I’ve got a feeling that this is where the skunk comes in. As always, I have the archetypal itch about this. The friggin skunk was dead. The lucky part for me, as I was obliged to take care of the carcass, was that there was none of that famous skunk odor. To begin a day with that kind of luck is a gift from whoever or whatever delivers providence in such cases. The skunk met his fate and I met my fate and the day proceeded from there. The good news, as the day unfolded, was that I sent four cats out the door, which means that they are now living in a home that doesn’t have 50 other cats as a family. There’s no doubt that the company of 50 other cats is indeed a family, as I can attest, but the  .  .  .  I don’t know where I was going with that  so I will let it go. My morning here is shaky and dreamlike, and I am using these words, this writing exercise, to deflect a bad state of mind, or at least to hide it for a while. The state of mind is chronic, no praise no blame. Luckily it comes and goes. There is stuff to do, obligations to tend to, and I should mosey, meander, whatever, off into the day, carting my bad state of mind with me. As always, a bad state of mind does not preclude happiness. Not today.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

The Whole Thing Shines Regardless

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“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.”  William Shakespeare, MacBeth

As I drove south into town yesterday, headed for the laundromat, thinking about quantum physics, I was trying to reconcile the Implicate Order offered by David Bohm with the ideas of Stuart Hammeroff and Roger Penrose, that death is marked by the release of quantum information from the brain’s microtubules. See, if a person dies then comes back to life the information, once released to disperse into the Implicate Order, returns as well. In tact. Before I even got to the laundromat I realized that the darned problem was a red herring. The friggin problem was already reconciled before I started. I was merely distracting myself from the stable-sameness of my mundane life. So, I get to the laundromat, get my laundry loaded into the machine, then I sit down to read about The Faerie Faith wherein Serena Roney-Dougal suggests that mythical passage into the realm of Faerie might be analogous to a quantum shift, and she compared it to the passage of a person undergoing an NDE, over then back. Some kind of quantum shift, right? As I read I got one of those ‘pay attention’ prompts from my spirit guide, she who remains quantumly shifted at all times, so I look up from my iPad to see an old lady pouring can after can of Coca Cola into the bleach port of her washing machine. And I was like huh? As she was loading the empty cans back into the cardboard twelve-pack carton I asked her about it and she told me that it worked better than bleach. Well, I thanked her for the household tip then went on to wondering why the Coca Cola Corporation hadn’t seized upon the idea. What a marketing tool that would be! Regardless, I am not going to try it, I prefer my clothes drab. She didn’t even offer me a drink. So I went back to reading. I’ve long wondered about my NDE back in 1984. What happened? How does it work when it does happen? Tens of millions of people have experienced NDEs. At least some savvy scientists are on the case. Some insight would be nice. I hope they don’t turn their focus to Coca Cola. That would be a waste.

That was the beginning of my day yesterday. In the afternoon I worked some on the side job I’ve been doing, then went on to the cat sitting job I have, which basically entails feeding the four cats and cleaning their litter boxes. The cats are clearly grateful That’s important to remember. Always be grateful. This life is magic, and that is a gift. As for the NDE, I sometimes wonder if I am still, after 30 years, grieving for myself. The friggin experience changed my life, and now at the low point of my life I wonder what happened to bring me to this point. No complaint here, I am enjoying life these days. What is at issue here is how I have applied the lessons gained from the NDE. All life is precious. Love is the answer. All is One. Consciousness exists beyond the body. The brain just thinks it is doing it all whereas it is really only borrowing consciousness, so to speak. The brain is a transceiver. Go figure. If that don’t wash up some humility then what does? In the months after the NDE I was in a state of grieving. I can see that now, after all these years, but back then I knew only fear on one side of the coin while on the other side I knew joy and illumination. Friggin confusion is what it was. I’d lost the world as I knew it and I had no idea what I was doing in the supposedly new world. I was grieving, and my heart was broken. One treasure that came from that grief was that it eased my passage when the deaths of dear ones came upon me; my dad, mom, and my soul mate Lori. I not only knew how to grieve I also knew how it looked and felt to pass over to the Other Side. Lucky me. David Bohm called this world “frozen light”. That makes total sense to me. I like quantum physics. I know it is trendy but that is not the reason I like it. My soul is where the NDE hit hardest. That has affected and effected my daily life for the past 30 years. But my intellect needs cookies. Yeah, you heard me right, cookies. Quantum physics seems to allude to the soul in many ways. Therein lies cookies. I can feed my hungry intellect while perusing the magic of life. And there is a lot of it, this magic, in my life, these days. Sure, I have a Celtic Goddess who tells me when to pay attention to certain magical moments, but anybody can do it because it is what we are made of. Magic, frozen light, and Coca Cola. HA! Just kidding, the Coke is optional. The Whole Thing shines regardless.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Feeling Giddy

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Maurice

“You have to believe. Otherwise, it will never happen.”  ~  Neil Gaiman; Stardust

It seemed the light was coming up fast at 4:45 this morning. I could see the wash of light expand as I sat on the deck. Lovely. But maybe the speed was more subjective because I was waiting for it for a change. Interesting thought. Sometimes things just happen and sometimes we help through observation. Quantum physics, the Observer Effect, right? But isn’t it a tad early in the morning to be talking about quantum physics? Nope. The New Horizon spacecraft just sent back some astounding photos of Pluto. Imagine a range of mountains 11,000 high made of water ice. The image delights me. The science geek in me feels a bit giddy over it all. But Pluto also figures in the astrological world as well. It harkens toward the subconscious, which is something that I have been dealing with quite a lot lately. Some of it has been in the therapist’s office. But it never stops there because the stuff that happens in there doesn’t mean anything if not taken out into the world. The subconscious, a place of shadows, archetypes, mythos, and even demons  .  .  .  well let’s just say that we get stuck sometimes, and all of that subconscious stuff gets all loopy and stuff. It just goes round and round and round and life gets repetitive, and loses it’s shine. Think “Groundhog’s Day”, think Bill Murray. Nah, get serious, I’d rather think Andie MacDowell. That’s why it is good to delve into the depths, to shake things up, to confront the denizens in there, be they gods or goddesses or demons, because they are in essence there to serve, to make life rich and vital. They need our permission to emerge, otherwise we leave them unto the shadow world that can really muck up your life. Let them out into the light. That’s what I say. And yes, my dreams have been shaping up and bleeding into this material world. I love it when that happens.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Pluto and Dreams

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“If people never did silly things nothing intelligent would ever get done.”  ~  Ludwig Wittgenstein

Today’s photo actually belongs before yesterday’s photo. My bad. What you see here is Scraggly (on the left) trying to snag a nap while Stella stares at him. I was no more than a meter away so nothing serious would have happened. Cats are cats.

Clouds outnumbered stars this morning. My mind is clouded as well. This may be good news for all of us. I can’t get my thoughts straight. Luckily there is not much to think about at the moment. There is much that I could write about but I have an attitude today. I feel irritable, and I know why. I am poised to defend a dream I have these days. Actually my dream is timeless, archetypal, whatever. But I do not want to spoil it so I will give a nod to the Pluto flyby instead. I have a long history of being a science geek so a space probe sending photos over a distance of 3,ooo,ooo,ooo miles delights the heck out of me. Somebody’s dream began the sending of that probe. Dreams can come true. I like that.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Talk To the Animals

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Stella is having a grouchy moment here. She, for some mysterious reason, was laying on a shelf with Scraggly, another large and intimidating cat. Scraggly is an old street fighter. You can see by his copious scars and rather rumpled fur. He also has a look on his profoundly beautiful face that seems to depict satisfaction with having been rescued from the rigors of life on the street. Stella was the tense one in the confrontation. Scraggly had a tone and demeanor reminiscent of Winnie the Pooh. I was there with my camera, hoping for some close-up shots of cats. Stella gave me a good one, and my shutter finger served me well indeed. Yes, she looks like a panther. She is a hissy girl, but if you ignore, cautiously, her greeting, and you reach out in friendship, she is quite willing to have an intimate pat, and if you massage her shoulders she pushes up into your hand. This girl is sweet. Don’t let her fool you. But like with so many shelter animals you must leave your fear at the door. Shelter animals can feel that fear. If you let fear do your doings for you? That’s where the dangers lie in wait. Don’t go there. Just don’t. I spoke with an Animal Communicator yesterday, and I just happened to have my digital camera at hand, and this photo on the display screen. I showed it to her and spoke of Stella’s anger at being incarcerated in the shelter. I didn’t mean to do the woman’s job for her, it was just that Stella speaks clearly to me. It is much like with people. My years of bar tending provided me with the ability, finely honed through necessary practice, to read people. We humans have much in common with felis domesticus. I look forward to having the Animal Communicator come talk with Stella. And maybe with Scraggly as well.

Ha! I bet you thought that I wasn’t going to talk about myself! Not. The anxiety today is low-level annoyance, no mas. Needed sleep commandeered me late yesterday afternoon, so I set the iPad alarms, two of them, to accommodate the return of the chickens to roost. I slept three hours, got up and enjoyed the sojourn, then rode the serenity of gabapentin back into another six hours of sleep. Anxiety and fear are friggin exhausting. I don’t remember the details of my dreams last evening and night, but I do remember her presence, she who is moving near, she who will share smiles with me. Such certainty may seem arrogant. Often it is, but not this time. My guardian spirit whispers through giggles and she tells me yes. Go there, be ready, wait in the meantime. Hey! Maybe the guardian spirit thing is like the Animal Communicator thing, both concepts being somewhat fanciful rather than actually serving our needs and desires. I don’t see it that way. Think parallel universes and imaginal realities. Who is to say that, perhaps, what we call subjective may be a bleed-through from another universe, or that the imaginal realm may be a sharing with another universe. Whatever. I will heed my guide’s call and I will wait. Someone is coming. Imagine that. I already have. But meantime I have the cats to tend to, and there are over fifty of them in the cattery. I hope the chatter and mumbles is not too much to bear. Friggin cats are ample communicators, especially when they want to be fed.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Hokey Smokes

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“Without deviation from the norm, progress is not possible.”  ~  Frank Zappa

“A serious and good philosophical work could be written consisting entirely of jokes.”   ~  Ludwig Wittgenstein

“Going up against the chaos. Two hearts full of tough love.”  ~  Bruce Cockburn

I just reread yesterday’s post. I suspect that it could be perplexing to some. It is not that way for me. I love Scooby Do. Sometimes it is him and sometimes it is Rocky the Flying Squirrel. We were taking about old and great cartoons at the break table at work a few days ago. Such things do my heart good. Aside from Rocky and Bullwinkle, which is by far the greatest cartoon ever, I think of Tudor Turtle and how Mister Wizard kept flinging Tudor back in time, flinging him into tough historical situations, where he had to face conflict before he came to the point of alarm, at which point he would call out to the wizard, who would yank him back to the present. Boy howdy that’s some heady stuff. Sometimes I think that I am Tudor and Eckhart Tolle is Mister Wizard, at which point I think I think too darned much. But is is sweet to have fun while doing so. Like when Rocket J. Squirrel says “Hokey smokes, Bullwinkle”. Be still my heart.

I am hoping the half-day shift will be charmed with silliness. Cats are good at being silly. I admire that in them, but I am pretty good at it as well. Take the previous paragraph for example. Yesterday I wrote of a mysterious encounter I had on Saturday. It will go down in history, my personal history, as one of the most soul-moving experiences in my life. I suspect that y’all may be thinking that it was a romantic moment. It was not. It was more like a chance encounter that really had nothing to do with chance. I’m not comfortable with the concept of destiny, but fate is another thing. My love for mythology has me seeing the Three Fates weaving fate. Whatever, right? But there amidst some 50 cats I got a glimpse of cosmic wheels that weave such things.

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Two ravens against the wisps of high cirrus and and soft blue sky. That was what I just witnessed as I sat outside the gate. A morning of wonder and silliness awaits. But first, a shower.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

A Soul Story

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“Your soul knows the geography of your destiny. Your soul alone has the map of your future, therefore you can trust this indirect, oblique side of yourself. If you do, it will take you where you need to go, but more important it will teach you a kindness of rhythm in your journey.”  ~  John O’Donohue

The rooster’s first crow came at 4:30 AM. The second cup of coffee came shortly thereafter. I should be all set, right? Yeah, pretty much. The cat woke me at 2 AM. It was not with a meow, it was with a murmur. Woken by this soft sound I found I could not go back to sleep. Friggin cat.

Yesterday it was about magic. I had a strange encounter that has me all confused. Some encounters just stick with you. This one did. And I could continue to beat around the bush except for the fact that I am not really sure what happened, but I am well pleased that it did. Listen, I am all about clarity, which is or may seem odd since I spend so much time confused and unclear. So I remind myself that it is the shadow that defines the light. Without a shadow light would be left adrift. How’s that for obscure? I’m trying my best. Stick with me. Thanks, yer a pal. How many people do we encounter over the course of, say, one week? How many stick with you more that a few nano-seconds? What I am saying here, trying to say here, is that sometimes you have one of those moments when an encounter raises that little confused questioning sounds that Scooby Do makes when curiosity strikes him. That was me yesterday, murmuring like Scooby Do, and suddenly lobbed into some kind of eternal place, a timeless space, where the pause to reflect runs up against the lack of time to do so, yet what is happening, however inexplicable it may be, is sweet enough to trump all other considerations. I am not sure what you readers must be thinking by now, watching me skate haphazardly with words. What happened? Was it a guru? Romance? Friendship? Business opportunity? A fight? True love? A danged slacker at hand? I just don’t know. The person in question intrigued me, as they have before, but not like this. Something important happened. Importance and confusion are two qualities that walk hand in hand when the quest for meaning is at hand, and I think that meaning must play out through time if you are to get any use out of it. If you know it right on there spot ya ain’t got nothin’ but presumption. Presumption tends to preclude any chance of finding the sumptuous in the mundane. Reread that last sentence. Ain’t it nice? Nuff said.

Our opening photo today, here at EyeYotee blog, is of Lucas the Great. I call him “the Great” but it’s really just Lucas. He has a history of stress-induced seizures. It’s odd to think so since he is so calm and unassuming. You really can’t tell such things at a glance. I know Lucas well, and I consider him to be a dear friend. I can relate to his plight. I too have a generally calm demeanor, and I too have had a couple of stress-induced seizures. Little ones. I doubt that I will ever have another. But the occurrence of the little seizures was a life-changer. The science geek in me was like all dazzled by the fact that I have a brain and nervous system, and something happened that roused neurological wonder. The neurologist said maybe brain damage. Whatever. I’m with Lucas – I like to gaze, softly, and without focus. Sometimes you see by chance some things that show you that brains and nervous systems are just the small beginnings of the story in which we live. Sometimes, like what happened yesterday, you see something that reminds you that soul has a lot to do with things as well. Yesterday the Goddess grabbed me rather abruptly. She shook me like a rag doll. She said dude friggin pay attention! So I did. But I was dizzy by that time. She shook me rather rigorously. Maybe that’s why I got confused? Not really. I saw something, and many other things, in someone’s eyes yesterday. I made that Scooby Do sound. What happened? What happened? Lucas was there. He saw the whole thing go down. And he got some pets out of the deal. He’s such a sweet cat. What happened? I don’t know.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.