Category: Compositions

What’s important in life is based upon how we define it.

We go to the dentist to clean off our teeth and keep our gums and body healthy. We accept this as a necessary and proper way to proceed.

However, sometimes there are other needs.

When I first visited with my fiance, we stayed the night over at his friend’s house. I hadn’t expected to, so did not have my toothbrush toiletries.

The amazing, differing things we ate that night resulted in a tiny calcium deposit forming on the inside of my front two touching bottom teeth for lack of flossing.

Whenever my tongue explored the groove from behind, I could feel it there.

At first, it irritated me, for I like my teeth to feel clean.

But, as I returned to The States, I realized it was one thing I carried home from my time there that had any type of permanence on the material plane and could always be with me.

As I worked odd jobs seeking stable employment, bartered at a hostel, camped out of my car, and couch-surfed, whenever I needed consolation and reassurance that our time together had been real, the tip of my tongue would seek and find our witness.

I viewed my time of hardship’s endurance as a trial-by-fire to purge weakness and become stronger.

Though I needed help and ached for an equally financially-contributing partnership, I didn’t want my fiance for superficial materialism.

I wanted him for his warm, canoodling laughter and his innovative, inclusive playfulness.

I believed he would help me, once he arrived, we married, and could get established.

I was to be the “bread winner” and provider for our family, initially.

For his love, I would have carried him over any mountain.

My current mom-and-pop team have been very supportive, over time getting better and better.

I very much appreciate their efforts, and they’ve made sure I’m sheltered. But, they still can’t shake their fear when I regain my power.

As soon as I start getting restabilized and redirecting myself productively – opening again to dreams – they shift the ground out from under me.

Perhaps I’m energy in motion – and they can’t keep up with me. I’ve got so much passion wanting to expand from inside of me.

Maybe I’m the one, always rearranging.

The word “exaggerated” exaggerates itself by how it’s spelled and how it sounds.

I love it when words sound like themselves.

Or when they exacerbate themselves further like a fear of long words being called hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia (my youngest’s addition).

Notice it includes “quip” inside itself, as if making fun of its own outrageousness!

When I reached for love again and extended this to a new man, I saw the signs coming that disaster was about to strike me.

She began ringing her hands with anticipation, noting how much more she’d have to work against me due to his reputation’s popularity.

Then, something happened to him – the timing was like a clear warning: if I pursued this, he would be harmed further.

Thus, I gave in to events that followed and let the rip tides carry me – far, far away from that man’s golden halo.

When I saw my fiance for the last time in Egypt, it seemed she’d gotten to and had sucked him skin to bones of vital energy.

Of course, I released him – though felt this was wrong: he’d fallen victim to his version of the messaging.

I’m not sure I should involve myself with a man. Perhaps I ought to stay alone, as I’ve all along been.

What I need is deeper connection’s nurturing and life purpose meaning – and the men I’ve met live shallow lives with focus that is fleeting.

I’m designed to support my partner’s dreams: if they’re “nightmares,” my life is unhealthy.

When my husband left, it felt as if a curse had been cast against me (this may have been true to some extent, in review of anothers’ trying to “steal” him from me).

I couldn’t believe he’d chosen my 40th birthday to have his midlife crisis, and I wondered in anguish how my life’s good efforts could not have avoided this.

I was looking in the mirror, deeply distressed with brain impulses blast-bombarding, and witnessed myself have a mini stroke as the left side of my face briefly dropped.

I sensed a powerful, negative force trying to crush the light within me. Something was taking advantage of this opportunity.

I prayed for protection and guidance and soon happened upon my husband’s data key – which must have slipped from his pocket while he was driving, and then slid to the floor behind the driver’s seat.

I had never trespassed upon his digital privacy, but this had to be the exception. I loaded it and learned that the choices he’d made had nothing to do with me.

I wasn’t a real candidate as his life mate – just a construct for him to project upon in our relationship.

Years later, I became engaged to my fiance and traveled between places I’d lived before, trying to find where we could settle to begin our new family.

From the beginning of our relationship and throughout, I felt as if a malevolent spector was smothering my brain in constant bad messaging.

“You’re too old for him. He will leave you for a younger woman. You aren’t attractive.” Envious, angry, and destructive, it lashed at me because I dared to strive to be happy.

The presence was constantly working against my positive psychology, squeezing and suffocating with painful degradation.

i struggled against it feebly, unsure how to dislodge its grip.

While staying briefly where my parents then lived, I went on a water fast for 24 hours to tap into cellular cleansing and resetting.

I then ate only tiny amounts of meat with a lot of cooked down vegetables, worked out almost daily, and bicycled everywhere instead of driving for a couple of weeks.

I quickly lost the 20 pounds I had gained from being exposed to extreme living situations without security. As a side effect, the skin on my face and forearms sagged: I looked as if I was 70!

Ever since that first day in the mirror after my husband disappeared, I’d felt as if The Crone had been taking advantage of my emotional vulnerability, scrabbling to suck the life force from me – and now she was winning!

But I fought back, now – valiantly – putting action, if not thought, into countering her.

I began doing facial muscle exercises and skin rolling massage with my fingers to reactivate tensility. I reentered work where I was using my arms and body frequently and regained muscle strength and tonality.

Eventually, the plumpness under thin gauntness began to return, and my skin began to retighten. My features are smoother now and more honestly self representing.

I am regaining ground and am proud of my efforts.

The Crone is a Bitch, if you let her be. There is no romanticism in her gnarled bones. She is spiteful, vengeful, and will suck youth from its marrow while cackling with glee.

The only defense I know of against her is to convince her I am not easy prey for her feeding.

When all crashed back in March this year, reprieve was delayed (and then cut off in June). From the beginning, I felt September was when I would reemerge.

I had hoped for less interference – to be allowed to proceed and progress, supported.

Through fire’s compressive heat beyond melting, I’ve held course, determined to not be thwarted.

Casting off the old by burrowing through caved-in tunnels, I’ve found a thin ray of sun peeking, as the hearing’s judgement is rendered in my favor.

Will I be allowed to emerge into the light of day, somehow stronger for my endurance? Or will I be shattered into pieces and buried again, mercilessly?

Finances are transitory: try spending, without needing replenishment.

Yet also, if you rarely spend, the regenerative energy can slow as try to accumulate.

Money is energetic exchange in the form of material or electronic currency

Its management relies on intellect and instinct in understanding how best to use it.

If every cent is put toward leaving a past behind, nothing is saved because all energy is needed for propulsion.

Therefore, other gains like savings, investing, and service advancement are put on a shelf, in stasis.

It doesn’t matter what I tell myself for confidence, when every step is considered a risk when focused on it.

This is my chance before more challenges find me and lift the rock under which I’ve crawled as I’ve sought for even the slightest of shelters.

My writings are thoughts surfacing – things I must promote and remember.

Do not take what I share merely at face value, for my words have depths and complex hidden meanings.

They are meant for you to ponder and reflect upon, pinging your instincts as validating their truth’s congruence to yours.

Prevent your filters from assuming you understand immediately, for my words define a hidden spring, just now revealing.

It’s waters carry within them the earth’s dreams and knowledge we’ve forgotten we are missing.

Look between the lines. See what I am beginning to see, after a lifetime of being caught in a nightmare.

I will do my best to convey what I hear life singing, as it beckons for us to add our melodies.

They come out of walls at me, even as I am just passing by.

Something about me upsets “the status quo” – and I have no idea why!

An example is that I favored a music teacher years ago. He and I got along well, and for a few months, there may have been something.

I was aware of his public acclaim and so tread carefully, observing much going on around me.

One day, a different music teacher actually snarled at me: her face contorted when she looked at me, timed so other staff would not see.

It was the most bizarre aggression – unwarranted and near obscene!

One evening at a concert, I was sitting in the elevated seats next to an elegant elderly woman. She leaned over to me and confided, “I’ve been coming here to his performances for years. This man is quite something!”

Was everybody desiring some piece of him? What had I wandered into? What drew them to “telling” me?

I’ve always had to watch my footing in this land of others’ subconscious reactions.

I hope one day to find a man who understands these things and how to manage them, and who appreciates my aware sensitivities.

Before, my heart was caged. I kept quiet because I was taught to “keep my mouth shut.”

They were wrong, and that’s why they terrorize.

If they were right, we’d gravitate to the truth, complacent.

I may still fear – and every fiber of my being might quiver to hide and return to seclusion.

If it weren’t for the dogs, I could do so easily, and forget.

But, to provide stimulation for them, I put myself “in the lime light,” for they are interesting and of rare breeds.

So am I, but you never would have seen – until now, as my heart begins beating.

When I took the on ramp to a town toward the ocean, I felt pulled into mountains, as if caught by tide’s suction.

As I stopped to u-turn to the store I was seeking, something tugged at my shoulders – as if it was beseaching.

But my radar was spun in those countryside ways: where we have been living has left me in a daze!

Have I craved other intelligence so much I’ve been starving, that to leave its embrace gives sensations alarming?

I resisted the call for a soon future date, when my youngest can accompany in exploration’s dictates.

With relief, the off ramp soon deposited me smoothly back into the stream where I wander enthusedly.

What does this term mean?

Visualize green, lush, sweet grass, swaying in the sunshine’s breeze.

Then, come down into the earth with me, where we can see the root sprouts extending from the tiniest of seeds.

And just below this, the thin layer of nutrient-rich soil – the fragile matrix upon which all life is depending.

From this knowledge of Life’s precarious position, we can rise above ignorance – and Achieve.

My photo, “Secret Bridge,” inspires thoughts of there being energetic gaps in the world, which such visualizations may help us to reconnect.

I mean, think about it…what have we learned in concepts from Sustainability?

Biomes of life are meant to be connected, transmitting communication and energetic transfer exchanges through diversity’s networks.

In progressive human community development, new construction takes these concepts into account.

“Eco Designers” ensure “corridors” remain connected between nature’s biome communities of natural scenery that construction cuts into.

This allows wildlife, plants, and other associated components – such as pollinators, water movement, etc. – to continue productive contribution toward regenerating these systems, which in turn enhances human wellbeing and the health of our planet.

Humans thrive in such systems where we are still part of the natural order of these processes. It’s encoded in our bodies to pick up response cues and interact with our surrounding natural environments.

When we are cast into deserts of shopping malls and apartment complex segregations where such biomes have been destroyed, we become the living, cellular repositories of such energy transmissive potential.

We are the “living bridges” that must hold within us the strength to rebuild what’s now harder to see due to mass industrialization stripping the heart and soul from life’s continuity.

There’s a hunger inside our bodies to be connected. Why does unnaturally-imposed isolation make us yearn to “be free?”

It’s because we instinctually know we belong in a world where nature’s thriving. It’s just taking us a while to “See the Truth” – and Believe.

What is it about this place that draws me closer?

When we were in California, I felt a strong pull to go Northern.

Where we are visiting is a positive transition zone where people cast off judgment – or at least, there’s more social responsibility.

Is that it, then? The cluster of people, ever changing, that come here due to this trending?

I know there are places where environment has greatest influence, and this place is under an open sky, nestled next to a river.

Maybe it’s a straighter shot clear to the ocean, and its location for our needs is more central for growing.

I cannot say we’d stay here forever, as it seems we move every 3-4 years, looking for someplace better – like migratory birds, following fair weather.

We had to file for the K-1 visa twice. It’s been a total of over 4 years now, and the second is still suspended due to the pandemic.

The first K-1 application was delayed five months from processing because President Trump froze the flow of immigration.

When it finally came due to be approved after my fiance’s embassy interview, he had already been put through too much duress by personal trials and how the embassy representative discriminated against him while slandering his good intentions and character.

The embassy then sent me a request for more proofs of my information. I did not understand this final step’s protocol, the embassy would not clarify, and I was confused by what I learned from the lawyer I consulted.

I was also in distress for our relationship, because my fiance at that point did not believe he would be approved, and he didn’t want to keep investing in something impossible to achieve for him.

It is a testament of his love, courage, and commitment that he kept trying to walk the journey with me.

But, I said the wrong keywords to leverage the embassy into helping me, enlisting advocacy from my local governor’s office. The embassy dropped our petition like a hot potato and returned it to the US immediatley.

They marked it as “denied due to suspected fraud,” which killed it, irrevocably.

We had to begin over again, investing more time and money, and it’s only been now with further experience that I understand what happened, and why it did.

I do not know if my beloved and I could have made it together. What has transpired from then to now has destroyed my trust in the situation.

This is what happens when outside influences such as friends, family, and governments are allowed to have power, interfering with a couple’s relationship.

I cannot blame my fiance for leaving, and yet, this is another thing about me: I stick with love so we win the bet!

I felt it when it happened.

Pressure had built up in my system from accidents and other trauma, now tipped by intake of antifungals.

Something in my neck and nerves shifted, altering my eyesight from focusing clearly.

I struggled with this sudden loss and distortion, trying hard to not panic.

As the years progressed and vision got fuzzier, it was hard to not become manic!

But, in times of relaxed introspecting, while walking or driving, suddenly I’m in the moment – and light reveals wonders to me.

Why is it a constant given that in employment I am usually the strongest in upholding morality?

I will contort myself into a knot in order to follow “rules,” yet still provide the best guidance and healthy treatment for clients.

As participants in life, it seems apparent to me that we are each here to support, enhance, and help improve the state of humanity.

Therefore, we ought to lead by example in our personal and professional beliefs and conduct – for people seek good leadership, and “Lord Knows” we need it!

When we first moved to where we are now escaping from, I immediately gained a job at a well-respected bank and was eager to work up the ranks and contribute my business skills and sensibilities.

I had gained this position just in time to prove to the embassy reviewing my fiance’s K-1 visa that I was a competent income earner by “normal standards,” and I had at last acquired for our future “stable” housing.

(In this economy back in 2018, neither tasks were easy!)

When I was admitted behind the scenes for group training, managers began indoctrinating us in usual pedanticly-rote educating.

They had us play “social morale building” games with the rest of the extensive staff, and advancement tests incorporated poster creation with on-the-fly hastily sketched artwork for slogan reframing.

We were challenged to learn specific detailed account management knowledge and program navigation techniques quickly under time pressure, and I leaned into the tasks, determined to prove my capabilites.

But then, two things happened that ruined the job for me.

The team trainer began accessing clients’ accounts and speaking derisively and snidely about how clients managed (or didn’t manage) their spending. Then, he implied it was allowed for us to look at accounts and spread bad jokes “in the name of learning.”

Topping this, he put the least mature “child” who often disrupted group cohesiveness to gain attention (and was also from the military) in charge of our group, allowing her to dominate and lord power over us.

I guess he did this instead of firing her so he could get his bonus for meeting the hiree retention quota, and to test the rest of us for our willingness to take orders and follow chain-of-command hierarchy.

However, a thing about me is that I have endured enough bad leadership. I will no longer be the brunt of immature jokes, nor be a part of a system that rewards and elevates bad behaviors.

And, I will certainly not support any group or organization that externally gives good lip service, but behind closed doors (and with utmost disrespect encouraged) disparages clients while trampling their account privacy.

I refused to be complicit in this mainstream, entitled debauchery, and promptly disentangled myself from the position.

My fiance’s arrival conscripted my attention away from the horrors that diverted me from living.

I broke off that track and began traveling to the Bay Area. I went dancing and investigated “scenes.”

He was there for me as we creatively played across distances immeasurable by walking.

The light and love he shared with me gave me a rope by which to climb out of death’s chasm.

As we moved forward, our roles shifted and I took the lead. I became stronger and my talents expanded.

I tried to give back to him in the ways his nourishment had inspired me.

But, it seems they will say now that “this was not meant to be.”

Does it feel good to tear apart two people’s connection?

No one should be allowed such blasphemy!

(Almost a year now since I was with him.)

When I was a child, I did not have people who would take time to teach me anything. And if they did, there was no luster or flare to it.

Everything was regimented linearly with “do’s” and “thou shalt nots.” My mind was starving from boredom and crazed for lack of what it sought.

I do not sit down and enjoy games of chess, charades, etc. (Ok, maybe Gin Rummy), because I am not good on the fly with my mind accessing non-essential, random blase data.

(Maybe it’s because I crave more engaging and fun, dynamic interactions, after a lifetime of solitude and introspection.)

I find it perplexing that people can spend hours on such games – when in reality, these efforts rarely amount to anything!

One could argue that it develops “strategy” – and I will admit that the way a general coordinates might be something I am lacking.

But, I do not need such skills to navigate the realms between which I’m flitting.

In fact, being bogged down by adherence to “what is known and seen” is quite possibly what is holding up much of humanity!

Intuition’s sensory receptivity primes one to expand into productive creativity.

It’s been strange and interesting to raise chickens. Also very sad when we lose some to unknown illnesses.

Chickens in one year go from little chicks dependent upon warmth, food, water, and mothering; to reckless teenagers, playing and interacting with each other; to adult hens and roosters that find their pecking order and get down to laying eggs and breeding.

We have watched them emerge as unique and friendly personalities, that then get dominated by others with agendas.

When we have separated the roosters from the hens, the boys can actually get along for the most part just fine together.

Similarly with hens, although we have had to separate them into groups that trend more in alike behaviors and characteristics.

Once chickens are mature, they will stick to their internal dictates, so it is important they are matched compatibly for productivity and happiness.

Why do I “blog?”

It is a good question which changes daily for me.

Mainly, I blog because in my normal day-to-day functioning, there is only rare forum for me to share such things as I am writing.

I also admit to feeling a deep loneliness in a world where conformity and masking our camaraderie seems the relegated tune we all march to.

And, I am opening my door to like-minded friends and cohorts, while I seek the “man of my dreams.”

This last in itself is tricky, because I think it is almost folly to predefine him.

Yet, without some sense of direction, I could flounder in searching too widely.

Thus, I will start by sharing some of my own elements, because I want him to cherish me for who I am – behind the scenes.

Concepts:

There are “spirit guides,” and/or “Spirit” guides us.

Proposal:

If we are susceptible to influence because, by their design, our human bodies are vessels (for how else would our souls be able to inhabit them?), perhaps seeking what is Good, Right, and charged by White Light could benefit us to join with it.

Perhaps there is a natural relationship of symbiosis between humans and celestial influences that we never consciously learned, or even really knew about.

We have stories and legends of “Prophets” that hint at such possibilities. When I hear or read about such emergence, I’m always struck by what seem as clues that no one addresses or speaks about.

I have always been wary of anything “other” influencing me, having been bombarded by bad messaging and other humans taking advantage of and harming me.

In my mind, Mankind can take shape of the worst sort of distorted and crazed predator – so why would I want to trust anything unseen and beyond my normal comprehension?

But, when I sit in warm sunlight’s breeze and allow my body to stop quaking in anticipation of some unknown retaliation or punishment, I sometimes feel the most wonderful Sense of Peace.

Is it Nature by its natural environment and inhabitants that gifts me by this influence of calm, or something even less understood that draws my soul to release from suffering?

As a child, Fundamental Christians exerted terror and suppression upon my surrounding community.

If I wished to “belong,” the bus would pick me up for Sunday School, and if the adults and children liked me, I would be rewarded with straw-tubed sugar called Pixy Sticks.

I talked my best friend into going with me one time, as we had been promised hot dogs and other rare delights that our mothers usually denied us.

My friend even to this day remembers that the church leaders lied to us and withheld the food – instead, preaching to us about “Hell’s Fire and Damnation,” and about how she and I were “Surely Going To Burn” because we were such wicked children.

I stopped going to social gatherings because the kids didn’t like me, anyway, and were mean and judgmental. I guess they thought I was poor because my mother liked to handmake my clothes.

I was white with sun-kissed skin and fawn-freckles on my nose from hot Fresno summers, and my light blond hair stranded past my shoulders like an angel’s.

Maybe I was beautiful and odd to them in my persistant quietude. Maybe they felt they needed to get a reaction from me.

I would observe them with my Persian-shaped, gray-blue eyes that absorbed and processed their behaviors much too obviously for their comfort. I imagine my gaze could seem unreadable and fathomless.

I had learned early on to avoid the smack of an adult hand by giving away no emotion. If only they had known what a wicked Hell-fire temper I could lash at them, if I’d allowed “spirit” to move me!

I turned away from Biblical scriptures because I witnessed how such people distorted these messages. They used them as reason to stay ignorant while propagating emotional violence and not growing into their true potentials – nor taking responsibility for their actions.

I related more with Jesus and other Prophets, whom as humans had opened their arms wide to their grander life’s purpose, and who had offered good, moral knowledge and positive guidance to societies for enhanced quality of living.

I thought I would be “without ‘God'” for my entire life, though I was reconnected with Source in my early childhood’s near-death experience. Since then, the energy of Hope has always been carried inside of me.

When I met my fiance online in my 40’s, I felt something untapped before near my heart resonate in messaging. “Pay Attention,” it said to me – and I sat up straight and absorbed learning about him, whatever traces I could glean.

When I traveled to Egypt to meet him, it was my first time out of my country, on a Mission for Love, flying on the day of the magnificently burnt-orange solar eclipse, shrouded by the haze of smoke from then California fires.

An omen if ever there was one.

When I arrived in Egypt, the different sense of time and place from that of the United States hit me as if I had just landed on a different planet.

I had eaten wheat on the plane trips over, testing it again on my system, as food options were limited. I instantly regretted it, once I disembarked.

I have emotional reactivity to wheat. I suspect it’s probably from pesticides or genetic altering American farming is known for sponsoring. My brain responds as if having a neurotransmittal allergic reaction, making me susceptible to environmental sensory distortion.

What this translated to was that upon encountering the “natives” of Egypt, the different shapes of the men’s heads and bodies (many covered in thin robes) affected me with sudden paranoid anxiety, as if I was surrounded by aliens and had xenophobia.

It was not a fun sensation to be experiencing, when I was already nervous to be meeting my fiance and had been pleaded with by friends and family to not travel to Africa because they were afraid I would be kidnapped!

However, I was also filled by a sense of “Presence” over that open expanse of heat-ambered sand, and when my beloved began sharing about the Qur’an and his family’s version of Muslim faith, I felt as if I had found a link to God that all my life had been missing.

Three years later upon my return to Egypt (when my fiance broke off our engagement), I still felt a strong sense of “God” and “Family” steeped deep into the land’s environment.

When I returned home, I went to a masjid so far away it took hours to drive to. I prayed to Allah and “His” Angels about what had happened with my loss and what my life had come to.

I admitted to “Him” I could not conform to any one religion, that I would never wear the hijab as symbolism of my dedication, and that “He” has always known I am different from others – so please guide and do not abandon me.

Recently, there have been events where I pray when in difficulty, and it seems I am answered. Even if I am not happy with the initial result, I see it leads to a wiser outcome.

I am not sure what to think about these experiences. My “Path with God” has always been a unique one.

When you walk the path of light, it takes you past most obstacles that people fumbling in darkness have yet to encounter and work beyond.

When you walk in the light, you are afforded vision others do not share, so thus bear the burden by default of great responsibility – often without thanks or comraderie.

To walk in the light is to commit yourself to a lonely road, until hopefully, you meet others like you.

We process our experiences according to internal and external messaging.

There is a tendency for us to clamp down, like a dog’s jaw firm on a bone, in self defensive protection against concepts that threaten our normal state of being.

Even if that bone is rotten and is making us ill by eating it, it is difficult to release it in search of a better one yet unseen.

My writings are musings to help me release the grip of holding onto outdated reasoning.

The idea that I cannot be – and do not have to be – “perfect,” and that I can be learning, just like everyone else.

Figuring out how to remove perfectionism pressure from my need for daily functioning is a riddle unto itself.

Being in a state of transition must be capitalized upon to gain new skills of relaxation and self acceptance, before I launch myself back out into the world.

Working on this now will serve me well in the near future.

Gathering thoughts as impulse around me, I learn to build confidence where I do not have any.

The world of humanity is intimidating, and while I have found kind and charitable pockets, mainstream seems filled with rabidity.

It is my goal to finish my Bachelor’s of Arts in Sustainable Community Development: Community Advocacy, of which I now have only 13 units remaining.

The difficulty has been in affording the cost to do this, while also navigating the chop of repairing security through poverty.

However, my further goal is to pursue and complete my Accelerated Masters in Creative Communication. I am stumbling over blocks to achieve any of this, but preparing.

The key is to activate that dulled spark within me that has been covered by caked-on soot from my heart’s desires receiving constant charring.

As I work toward these goals, I will continue to sluff off damage until I am clear again, actively engaging and progressing.

I’m working my way toward a screen play that hopefully is illuminative while entertaining. For now, it’s on the back burner while I venture to regain resources.

In the spiral cities of a celestial world, bred through millenia, the inhabitants have lost touch with their once human origins.

As a Starseed, I was granted a rare view of their doctrines so that I might compare the disparities between what had now evolved on their world in contrast to Earth’s current “civilizations.”

The Celestials were cut off from their descendants when the interstellar gates were destroyed and Atlantis sunk into the ocean. Only hints of once continuous contact between the realms are shown by traces found in and on Earth’s scattered pyramids.

The survivors trapped on earth after the fall bred with baser beings like demons who took the form of humans. Yet, humans always contained light within them, no matter how the darkness worked toward corruption.

Current humans are more forgetful of their orientation in space and time. They have few trace memories of their true ancestry, as those who destroyed the gates have colluded with the demons to retain power.

Maybe some humans still have ability to “connect.” They certainly do know how to breed. But, few contain advanced intelligence, mired down by hunger’s need to feed upon each other in an attempt to fill the emptiness left behind of their original life’s purpose destinations.

Humans belonged among the stars, but now those left on Earth are being watched, and I was sent as spirit to inhabit a human body to learn as one among them and determine if humanity is worth saving.

Energy is an interesting thing. It flows in many phases, and also builds up within structures of the material plane.

We either use this energy by converting things from one form to another (such as fossil remains to fuel), or by affinity – such as gazing at a sunset, or smelling a flower.

I was very ill a couple of weeks ago when my intestines froze / stopped working. For two days, I just lay in bed, hardly eating, drinking, or moving because my system was in toxic shock.

Environmental factors over three days caused this: a half cup of imbibed cabernet wine, heavy in sulfites; consumed boiled yellow onion and potato juices with a heavenly roast; and breathing in too large a quantity of spores from mildew and molds while driving a once-stagnated vehicle.

My system balked at the overload and just shut down. It was an excruciatingly uncomfortable state to be in.

When things began slowly moving again, I did not feel like I was really getting better, no matter how I tried to influence the equation with electrolytes, chewable papaya, etc.

Then, my son and I stopped by an esoteric beads-and-more shop before heading home from a trip one day. Inside, there was this large, raw, white crystal that fit perfectly into my hand and that I felt drawn to.

I had to have it. It had such a comforting feel to it, as if I were gasping for breath and it provided oxygen. It just soothed my senses and reminded me of how vital I used to be and feel.

I sat it on my lap all the way home. I lay with it on my stomach anywhere I felt blocked, once I climbed into the sheets on my bed.

I held onto its presence and told my cells to align with its beneficent purity. I put a prayer out to guide me and my body back to dynamic functionality.

Whether feeling affinity with the crystal shifted focus of my energy due to positive association, or whether the crystal was and is still full of such thrumming energetic harmony, all I know is I am significantly gaining my strength back on levels that were before denied to me.

The presence of this crystal has been like a dear friend come to stay with me, giving me a sense of love and light and warmth through these darker days of my life.

Its radiant and clear brilliance in the sun, revealing rainbow spectrums along fractal planes within it, mirrors how I want to be living more in a purified en”lightened” state of being – full of colorful vivacity.

I recently had a pet caregiver tending to our animals while we went away for a trip. While we were gone, she left one of the cats loose in our house instead of putting her back in the cattery, refusing to capture it.

She did not leave it with the litter box on the porch placed inside, and I came home to my bed being crowned with cat poo and saturated by urine through layers of blankets, sheets, mattress protectors, and into the expensive foam pad.

The cat also peed on piles of sheets in folded laundry, and on our nice loveseat couch. We were lucky she did not get injured by a fan we left on – which with an untended cat can be an electrical fire hazard – and that she did not decide to go after our beta fish in bowls, or try to get the gecko in its cage.

Arriving home late at night to this disaster, we also noted that our chickens were in distress from not having enough food and water. They have been recovering from some sort of illness and needed to have plenty to help their immune systems regulate.

The lady did not apologize for leaving the cat out, stating she had better things to do than chase a cat. She did not apologize for the resultant damage, and said there had been “adequate” food and water when she’d come by in the morning, rather than filling dishes and containers as I had asked her to.

Every person I’ve spoken with about this situation has said they would not pay her for that week due to all the damage that was caused by her apparently willful negligence. She even attempted to hide under her normal business contract as an extension to the favor of helping me out (which I did not sign for my home) that she claims protects her from any liability.

I offered to pay her for half of her two day visits to be more than fair to her at least partial efforts to help me, though her negligence would cost me several hundreds of dollars if I were to replace everything that now smells of cat excrements.

I wanted her to feel appreciated, yet to share the burden of responsibility. To honor me in return by taking accountability.

She basically told me to go F*** myself and felt wronged no matter my efforts, determined I should pay for everything – and then refused any payment.

If I sent her a money order for the full amount she would have earned, does that help anything?

Some would argue, then how is any lesson learned?

But, maybe I already made my point, and her harsh, unyielding reaction is indicative of a woman who has experienced too much suffering in her life.

Perhaps there is no winning, but an attempt by my gesture to provide any soothing could be worthy.

A simple note with the money saying, “Thank you. I appreciate your efforts.”

i’d expect nothing in return, for her pride is likely too wounded, and she’d need to be boastful “how she won our disagreement” by withholding ending things amicably, as I’d requested.

“No one sees when the unicorn bows before them, as its horn that could damage instead yields its blessings.” – Me

I already won the game by her attempts to leverage me being thwarted so all she could do was fold.

It isn’t fun for me if we are not both winning. I’d rather leave the relationship with her feeling redeemed.

(I ended up not sending payment, and leaving the issue alone – as her “middle finger” requested. It seemed more important that she get to resent me.)

Consciousness relies upon constructs of imagined plausibility in order to make sense of the world in a way that ensures data processing is manageable.

I’ve had to think deeply about this to access roots of embedded programming, for my susceptibility toward certain tendencies can leave me high and dry without backup when someone I love leaves my reality.

I no longer have barriers enabling me to buffer and bounce back easily from such losses, so must distance even from my self in order to survive the outcome – and transfer awareness to a plane of existence where I no longer experience the cost.

I am no longer willing to be the breadwinner and prime motivator, providing for a man.

It’s been hard enough having my youngest go through every trial and bump on our journey.

I need a partner able to establish his own claim, and help gain for us our own family’s prosperity.

He had asked me to remarry him, now that time had passed, and I felt inside that I was ready again.

He’d grown his hair out long like he used to, and once more dyed it black. He looked elegant and well put together as it trailed in inviting sway down past his shoulders.

He masked the limp well, and walked straighter now – even without a cane. His eyes were clear with sense of purpose, and I could feel his energy stronger in its core.

Confused about life’s purpose and how mine seemed to have circled back along its path, I’d said Yes, drawn to the warm remembrance of what we’d once come so close to sharing. I was tempted to cross the gap that had always been between us, and to find out if our love could at last claim happiness.

He had plans now, and had decided he was moving to Colorado. There were options there, he said – better than those on the West Coast. He wanted me to move there with him. It could be our chance to “start over.”

So all of our friends and family had been invited and were gathering in a nearby event room to properly bear witness. They were a cherished collection from our society that in our previous life together had been scattered and poorly tended.

My parents were there, as well as dearest, unofficialized godmother and godfathers to our now grown children. I’d never revealed to these parent figures who’d always been our friends and “watched over” / kept tabs on us how much they’d always meant to me.

There were other people there, as well: smatterings of youthful temptation that in the past might have distracted my once-husband away from me, and caused me insecurity.

I was alone for the moment in a side room, having dressed myself in a dark evening gown, and was now putting on lush, colorful shades of dark and light eye shadow containing hints of iridescence. At first, I layered heavily to gain intriguing effect, then cleaned the process to a result more subtle.

Nervous and in a daze, I worked on this while gazing into the mirror. Anxiety was churning slowly in my stomach, and if I wasn’t careful, it could ignite into a full-blown attack.

I was thinking about how long my quest to find “the right partner” had been taking. Ten years, now – and not much to show for it. Maybe it was better this way, although something felt untraceably off about it. Was it the promise I’d made to myself that I’d be breaking by going forward with my once-husband?

Where was my past fiance? I wondered. If asked and truly answered, how would he respond to my decision? I had loved him deeply because his heart had seemed pure, and like me, he had often adorned his sleeve with it.

But, he was nowhere to be seen, of course – although I had written and asked him about it…or at least in my mind I had. In reality, I hadn’t gotten the courage to go through with it, since he had officially “rejected” me.

Everyone was assembled, ready, and beginning to get restless, as the pandemic was still recent and gatherings experienced were a novelty and not yet trusted.

My once-husband about-to-be-renewed walked in, as usual, casting aside conventions. He must have been the one I had learned this from, although I had applied the skill to my own directions.

How much in life had we learned from each other, while determinedly fashioning it to our individual preferences?

Our love had always been a bit like bending light: you could not easily see our congruency – just some opposite effects resulting, refracting as if we were polar opposites destined to attract, but we’d get closer, our poles switched and we would repel each other.

I guess that his was the tail that had near-always flipped whenever I would reach to be closer with him. It was some sort of defense mechanism from trauma in his childhood, projected at me as if I were considered a threat because I offered and craved intimacy.

It was amazing and strangely unsettling to no longer feel his automatic pushing away from me. I was unsure that I could trust this sense of him having evolved and settled into his maturity.

“Having second thoughts?” was the jist of his inquiry, as it was a natural consequence of our damaged past’s history.

“Actually, I am worried. What’s to prevent our reunion from going the way it did before?” I asked him a bit nervously.

“I know better how to handle the Russians, now. I’m not afraid to, anymore.” This meant he was feeling confident enough to stand solid against the most tenacious self doubts.

We laughed at his joke together, and I felt some tension ease inside, wooing me to relax into acceptance, rather than being stuck at my instinct’s indecisiveness, I began turning left to walk into his arms while we headed to the door.

Just then, in slow motion, a hatch lifted from the floor to the right side of and then behind me as I turned to go. As it was thrown wide open, my ex-fiance began struggling to pull his body through the narrow hole.

He tried repeatedly in vain to call my name, becoming more desperate as no sound escaped his lips – not even his gasping breath could be heard, as he fought to reach me.

My ex-fiance’s eyes widened with panic as I arrived at the door, and he fumbled wildly, grasping for something in his jacket pocket. It was a gun – and his arms trembled, shaking with adrenaline, as he lifted it, pointed it at me, and tried to control his aim.

The gun went off, giving an ear blast-cracking sound as its bullet launched and wooshed through air, reaching me as I turned, startled, to meet that sound’s direction. The bullet hit me, piercing and passing through my body, just under my left collarbone.

As the searing pain erupted into my system and I was falling backward from the bullet’s powerful impact, I began losing consciousness and caught just a glimpse of my once-beloved’s stricken face, realizing he had meant to fire past me to get my attention.

How ironic! I thought hazedly as the light was fading. When we had first met, I had accidentally shot him – and then been there for him while he’d gone through months of agonized healing.

Now, I was experiencing the pain he had gone through, before he had found forgiveness and grown to love me.

What a twist to the end of an emotionally intense dream!

I was wondering today if I have a “field of null” around me. I do not act in public the way many people act, and how I act is more mature, observant, and solitary.

Unless, of course, I am motivated suddenly to break out of hiding and share warmth with somebody. Otherwise, I navigate around others, following my own lines of inquiry.

For example, this evening I met a lovely woman from Romania who was drawn to our dogs. Suddenly, I felt it was right and good to let her hold the leash of one while I retreived the other from the car.

Normally, I would not trust “a stranger” with our prized ones, but there was something about her reaching to connect with me that allowed me to feel I could gift some trust.

And, once I gave her the opportunity, I got the sense that this somehow elevated her sense of status and well being.

I do that sometimes, if the moment is right. I follow my heart and discover later how it may have helped the recipient.

Then, I return again to the inner privacy of enshrouded mystery, veiled once more by the people around me.

What an interesting word, yet it can be more phasic than suggested.

When I’m out with our dogs, I must be the alpha and aware of what’s occurring.

It isn’t just a simple walk in the park – not when they’re both still learning.

Pleasure, if felt, is far removed from the situation I am managing.

The breeds we own are not for the passive enabler.

Glancing into the mirror, self criticism derides me. Was I a fool to be honest? To not “play it cool,” and to let him see the wilder side of me?

I didn’t really think that I had a chance with him, but if I had said little, I felt he could have offhandedly categorized me.

And, I’d felt the chance to bridge with him was just too important to let other forces handle incorrectly.

So, that meant my fumbling was, in the end, the best way to show authenticity.

I would have liked it if it had mattered to him – that I sacrificed my play, yielding to him every advantage.

Selling an item on Facebook is overwhelming as I receive pings of interest and follow lines of inquiry.

The multidirectional tracking bombards my senses to where I’ve had to stop responding, and set for myself clear guidelines.

I’ve focused on two people who have been direct and positively engaging, without running me in circles.

In seeking to promote a solid transaction, I need the buyer to be capable of collaborating so we are each benefitting.

i had not realized this would be necessary, but having decided on this course of action, good guidelines helps me also have good boundaries.

Immortality is finding one’s inner congruency and tapping into the body’s innate knowledge of healing.

It’s when very sick (likely with COVID) for a month straight, battling back the symptoms with vitamins, herbs, and rest – while the powerful virus vies to convince me it will kill me.

It’s facing that terror, looking it straight in the face, and holding on with sheer determination, refusing to surrender to data stacked into “inevitabiliy.”

It’s choosing to sync with symbolism and metaphor more directly aligned with one’s philosophy, when reality refuses nourishment and clemency.

Like reaching to meld through transition like a phoenix, as my soul bursts into painful flame to burn off past damage – and then from the ashes of my former self, I’m consciously reborn.

It’s in clinging to the concept of a woman who phases into a dragon, where man once sought to distort my power. Now as a shifter into the ethereal, I’ll never be chained in my heart’s dungeon again.

Someday, we might tap into our cells being able to constantly rejuvenate. But until then, immortality is a state where I heal while I hibernate.

When I emerge again into the sun, and darkness is cast away from me, I will know my life is won, and I am free to be more who I want to be.

I was isolated for much of my childhood. Four walls and silence were often a constant. A few toys, some worn out books. Encyclopedias stopped coming.

I was exposed to many thematics, however – a bit like Daunte’s Inferno in witnessing the choices others made as I was dragged through scenarios.

I was meant to be the mute observor, and if I so much as batted an eye at something, there was retributive punishment.

Over time, I learned to move with the stiffness of mind and body. I learned to meld my functioning better with my emotions.

I thought that the goal in life – at least from my perspective – was to find unity and harmony in one’s emotional self expression.

I was surprised to find that others in life vociferously disagreed with me. The answer seemed so simple, if I could just embody it.

We do not really understand the nature of trauma and how it affects a person. We take for granted that what we see on the surface is a person’s innate personality.

What if I told you that for my entire life I have been hiding, and only now am beginning to understand enough to figure out how to emerge myself?

What if I were to tell you that inside I am still that same child, looking for a way and the chance to come out into the world, and play with you?

Am I an ascetic?

It seems I am living my life this way. My clothing is minimal and based upon comfort’s functionality. I consistently am thrust back into lack of income’s poverty.

I’d like to think I’m incorruptible, but if you knew what I’ve undergone in trials I cannot speak of here, you’d be amazed at my lock-down self discipline.

I could be a junkie on the street, a whore for hire, a slave to my own needs and others’ debasities.

I am imperfect, and I have my own rational and irrational needs.

However, where I do have power, I try to use it wisely. I know my actions affect others, even if others do not see me clearly nor value me.

If I could figure out a way to live a life of luxury that did not harm others to get there – sign me up, gladly!

I would enjoy learning how to mix and match clothing to pull off unique composure, getting lost in the details of textures and beauty. I love to fly and travel – a yacht trip could “tide me over” nicely (reference to quote from A&E’s Pride And Prejudice)!

But, without the right people who think clearly and more productively as I do, without the right thematic that wants to help promote others’ well being, too, it would all mean nothing to me but another example of what artifice ascribes to.

I do not seek the life of an ascetic because I want to. I just have no other choice for now, if I hold to my ideals.

An ambivert is a person who exhibits both introvert and extrovert tendencies. A simple explanation, yet the result is more complex.

For me, you would not easily guess I have extroversion capabilities in most of my external day-to-day activities.

I keep to myself, except when briefly interacting with others out of necessity. In those moments of rarity, suddenly light and joy – some spark of positivity flares from me to hopefully brighten another person’s day with empathy and brief cajolery.

It is with my youngest that my flares for the extravagant burst out more frequently, daring as they cast off restraints, for my youngest does their best to not judge me, and seeks as I do what fun can be made by creative enlivenment.

Posting here in my Corvid blog is another way for me to display external expression, though I’m finding what wishes to be heard are deeper moral belief systems.

It’s a thematic in sci-fi movies that latent talents emerge when there is need of them. And to anyone paying attention, it is clear that our world needs guidance back to paths of beneficial coexistence.

I do not write to preach, but to assert lessons I’ve learned in my experiences. What is good for the whole should be good for the one, and in our daily decisions, good for the one must consider those it’s affecting.

When conflict is positive, it can result in growth. It arises out of basic disagreement. But, when involving struggle over control and power, it is not always moderated well, and can result in violence.

I do not like conflict, as it agitates my system on a cellular level, causing alarm signals in the forms of anxiety and adrenaline. I much prefer discussion and even debate, but conflict to me usually means someone is wielding some kind of emotional, psychological, or physical damage, without regard to whom they’re affecting.

I have not come across many people who deal with conflict appropriately. In fact, I have found that most people engaging in it revert back to playground behaviors invested in the ego’s struggle to assert itself on the world – to be validated, forcefully.

Therefore, I avoid conflict whenever possible. If I think deeply on any given matter, I usually do not need to assert myself. I can find more peaceful ways to continue my journeying.

For most of my adult life, I’ve chosen to be self employed to ensure I could manage conflict well and not become a victim or puppet to other people’s machinations. It has served me well as a life philosophy to always maneuver around conflict, and only seek investing in positivity.

I have been surprised as I take stints of working in employment that office atmospheres have not progressed much over the last thirty years. There’s still rife conflict permitted – in staff back-biting and employer top-down resentments.

As I bypass conflict, the squabblers remain rooted where they have invested in their grievances. They are not willing to progress beyond dysfunctional behaviors and regressive thought patterns.

As I leave their realms of inequity, I quest for new environments where mature and advanced innovators ascribe to collaborative teamwork ideals and “paying it forward” philosophies.

Surely, these can not still be such novel concepts!

As an awakening visionary (of which there are plenty of us, I assure you – I need no claim to fame), I struggle with the concept of responsibility, and what part of it is my own to name.

Examples in forefront of my mind are in some personal experiences where I’ve loved a man.

The first one, I had a vision while he was having an accident. The second became ill after his beloved left him. The third wasted away while waiting for our union. The fourth had an injury while we’d just connected.

When the fourth happened, I hastily withdrew intentions, as by this point, I got spooked by experiencing what seemed to be some reoccurrent pattern.

If I was the constant variable linking to these people, did I somehow influence their demises? Or was I just there by uncanny timing, available to help when they found themselves compromised?

I haven’t received much positive reassurance, for in the end, each person moved onward. So, it’s difficult to know if my presence in their lives helped their recovery.

As a healer, my policy is “Do no harm.” Yet, perhaps these events were of their own making?

And I, as their witness left as bystander, am merely confused by the ending.

I learned to be an accomodator. This is not a bad thing, at all, especially if you are meant to be a healer.

But, if this is a constant, subconscious default as automatic response of offering underbelly, at best, you are disregarded as an equal; at worst, you are seen as prey.

So, I learned to play possum, recognizing I must modify, but realizing also that I could not defend myself if seen as a threat by predators.

I developed kindness and generosity so I would affect only good will and beneficience upon others.

But, brutality snarls at that which it is not brave enough to evolve to. Subsequently, I have still remained its target.

The best method of survival I’ve found as a committed non-violent is outmaneuvering. I’ve had so much bad happen to me, I can often see the patterns that’ll lead to a next event coming.

My time investing in the last job I held was a test on working such theories: the man on his surface was nice and easy-going, but had vicious flares of narcisitic lashings.

I held firm in a hostile environment, which on surface seemed warm and welcoming. When the end came, I should not have been surprised – but, his timing and follow through were perfect for a man with repressed rage: he destroyed, and then obliterated me.

I’d held long enough to relearn and expand upon my prior education and training. I got my “street cred” back – and my licensing.

But, having encountered such directed violence from one man living subconsciously, I have had reinforced the danger of trusting another with my well being, so completely.

This lesson was reinforced earlier, when my husband left me and our family.

This lesson was reinforced before this, when politicians and greed ruined our economy.

This lesson was reinforced before this, when society did not care for its displaced teenagers.

This message was reinforced before this, when abusers could infiltrate home premises.

This lesson was reinforced before this, when I was pulled too hard, backward as birthed from my mother.

The stage was set from the beginning: I would be thinking differently from others.

But, now as I’m half a century grown, I pivot – poised and ready – to open my arms wide and take command of such heresy.

I’ve lived long enough now that my words can hold their weight. It doesn’t matter if others agree with my oracular dictates.

Truth is truth and remains truth despite lies’ genuflections.

What matters now is what we do with Knowledge – and how we bring into reality our good intentions.