Ann by the Ocean

When he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.”  ~ William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

“We went down into the silent garden. Dawn is the time when nothing breathes, the hour of silence. Everything is transfixed, only the light moves.” ~  Leonora Carrington

“When you get to the end of all the light you know and it’s time to step into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen: either you will be given something solid to stand on, or you will be taught how to fly.”  ~  Edward Teller

Sometimes I think of Ann by the ocean. On the beach in Hawaii, just short of the end of her physical existence. Ann was dying from cancer. I’d put off calling her. I was afraid. Of what, I don’t know. I’ve been across to the Other Side. It’s there, it’s real. There is nothing to fear. It seemed such a sweet and unspeakably profound metaphor – Ann by the ocean, dying, her Spirit, her Consciousness, primed and ready to drop the restrictive flesh and bones and flow back into the vast sea of Consciousness. Ann by the ocean. I could go on. I’d planned, or at least hoped, to write more about Ann and the flight beyond life that we all will take. Not into the Light. We are already in the Light. That was one of the essential things that Brighid – the Celtic goddess who met me on the Other Side – taught me about the NDE journey: and, dude, like why don’t you get it, dude, that All One means All One, dude? There is no here or there. Brighid taught me how to bridge that vastness between the material world and that of Spirit. Pretty cool stuff. Wow, the Full Moon really got to me this month. Must be the season of the witch. There is magic afoot in the land. Hope ya don’t mind, dude, if I leave it at that, dude, if I leave it on a mysterious note.

Just back from stepping outside. The egg-shaped Moon is setting over the top of the hill, sitting upright, perched on Her large end, as if it is the Equinox or something. Ma Nature is still stunning to me after all these years. Wow. Just wow. I’m gonna hafta wrap this up. It’s time to go to work soon. Lots of stretching this morning, because I can feel the shadows, the imprints, of the trauma of my bicycle crash back in ’84. The body hurts, as does the trauma. Trauma sucks, but it is a fascinating phenomenon for me. In a way I love it, I love the trauma. Regardless of the pain it is another way to let Light into the world. Pain can do that for you. This too is good. Onward and upward.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

2 thoughts on “Ann by the Ocean

  1. This left me thinking: first, though it might sound out of place, there are special joys in sharing the final days of one we love so. And second, Neil deGrasse reminding us we are all made of the very stardust from the burst of creation. In that sense, the universe doesn’t look big, we are as big as the universe inside us.

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