“As things stand now, I am going to be a writer. I’m not sure that I’m going to be a good one or even a self-supporting one, but until the dark thumb of fate presses me to the dust and says ‘you are nothing’, I will be a writer.” ~ Hunter S. Thompson
“Now the first of December was covered with snow
So was the turnpike from Stockbridge to Boston
The Berkshires seemed dream-like on account of that frosting
With ten miles behind me and ten thousand more to go” ~ James Taylor
Yeh, I’ve used that second quote before. It means a lot to me; says a lot. Yesterday was a gray day, much like one might expect this time of year. Three weeks short of the Equinox and Autumn has settled in nicely. I love it, Autumn is my favorite season. In the cyclical mythos of pagan leanings this is the time of year that signifies the dying of the god. He will be dead and gone, only to be reborn come Yule. Nice story, that. You’d think more people would have used it by now. Maybe they have? Maybe. Yeh, maybe. Moving forward, I was in a very tight spot yesterday, confined in a way which would only increase the tightness if I struggled, so I pulled out my best mindfulness and settled in to enjoy the ride. The place became noisy, but I had earplugs, I knew that the noise signified that a powerful magnetic disruption of my neck had begun. Somewhere deep inside all of the fuss I heard a voice . . .
“Theres something in the way she moves,
or looks my way or calls my name,
that seems to leave this troubled world behind” ~ James Taylor
. . . and I’m like what’s that supposed to mean? It meant that Tom, the technician was treating me right. James Taylor’s greatest hits. Dude rocks. As for me, the lyrics didn’t seem relevant. Where’s the ‘she’? I’ve been thing about my ex-wife a lot lately. I’ll spare you the lyrics on that one. Nah, I can’t do that . . .
“All your life you’ve never seen
A woman taken by the wind
Would you stay if she promised you heaven?
Will you ever win?” ~ Stevie Nicks
. . . . Where are you my dear. It’s only been four decades; why haven’t you called? Was the song speaking of her, or was it just the inner instinctual and archetypal longings of some guy laying in some plastic tube some place in the high mountain desert of Nuevo Mexico del Norte? I reckon it was the latter. Sing to me of the goddess, Mr. Taylor, any time. I’m down with that dude. Of course, Tom let me out of the tube by and by. He says it was about 20 minutes. It seemed like eternity to me, not because I was claustrophobic, or resistant in any way at all, it was because with all of the presence of a powerful electromagnetic field I used the field to slip through the Veil for a spell. Oh! I just used the word “powerful” twice in one sentence, just like Gregg Braden! Dude, give me a hug. See, I really did have a hug with Gregg Braden. Ummm, moving on. As I looked into the imaginal depths of the field behind the Veil the first thing I saw was the image of a bloodhound, as if she was looking around a corner, ears flopped down forward a tad, and those eyes were as intelligent as it gets. So, how about the totemic symbolism of the Bloodhound? It means that somebody around me is deceiving me by standing in the way of my pursuing my own dreams. Well, I have been caught in a space where it seems that I have no dreams of what may come through dreams. My dreams are all anxiety dreams these days. Until that regal looking dog with the adorable floppy ears showed up. There were other spirits present as well, but it was the Dog who brought me what I needed to know. The rest were there to guard me, to comfort me, to lift me when I achieved the potential to be lifted. They wanted me to succeed. In my Tarot studies I’ve been drawing the Page of Swords lately. Friggin spies and deceitful people! Why I oughtta!! For a frequent paranoid such as myself these images of deceit and manipulation are easy to doubt, but I won’t doubt. No way no how. Someone out to get me? Dude, what you been smokin’? The Bloodhound is the Sherlock Holmes of the Totem, Dreamtime, whatever, world. I guess I could have me a sniff or two, right? But the ex-wife? And I have been thinking of Rita as well. OMG, Rita? Ten months together, in my home, and much of it was rich with beauty. It was reading Robert Pirsig’s powerful (wink, wink, hi Gregg) novel Lila (click here) that nudged me into setting Rita free. Along with the beauty eventually came the crazy. No details. She had to go. She probably wound up in jail. No details. And I was way sad. It had looked quite promising for a while, and it wasn’t my bad. Soooo . . . it’s off to work for this hopeless, hopeful, whatever, romantic. The romance I shall doubt. The spy? I’ve written about that here before. Shields up, photon torpedoes armed. I’d rather go for a nice meal, with marinara and red wine, then a snuggle on the couch. Whatever. And Gregg, buddy, you The Isaiah Effect had a powerful effect on me. A good one dude. Dude like thanks dude.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.