Candid Corvid Productions

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.