Thankful for Opened Gates

A friend asked a great question yesterday: "Do we hear the voices of our forefathers? They speak so loudly, but do we hear?" Well, funny you should ask, Michael...

Illustration source: Google Images

In the last couple of weeks, there's been a theme in my life of listening to my body, in a specific physical sensation way (this totally relates to forefathers, and foremothers, too... just bear with me), I mean really listening by stopping, stilling, breathing, taking a gentle & self-induced MRI, a BrainScan from the tips of my toes to the top of head and back down again, with a clear focus and intent of non-judgmentally asking as I scan: "What do I feel here?" It's a practice I've been aware of a long time, but didn't bear in mind much until recently.

This re-engagement with Really Listening to My Body was jump-started on a Saturday morning a couple of weeks back when - over some coffee and between facebook'd Scrabble games - I was surfing the website for the Institute of Noetic Sciences. I somehow came to a link to a recent (11/11!) talk on real-world application of meditative practices by Dr. Charles Tart, formerly of the University of California at Davis, where I was a student in the 1970's and - in a seminal move for my philosophical development - where I took Tart's classic course "Altered States of Consciousness". I like to keep up with Charlie professionally from time to time, and checking in on his current work has never failed me. So I was extremely attentive and energized to stumble upon his take on beneficial effects of a practice he calls Sensing, Listening, Looking (SLL). This sparked an "Oh, yeah! I wanna do that again!" BigSmile reaction, and off I went and have been going with it.

Co-incidentally, synchronistically, during a session I had a week later with an experienced healing professional, she (unprompted by me) suggested and guided a meditation of listening to the body - ding!ding!ding! - which led to beneficial self-awarenesses of a magnitude that ten years of healers put together could not accomplish. It was a powerful and personal illustration of how listening to the body is like instant manna to resilient new growth. 

The simple asking spills its resulting answers - "itch"... "pulse"... "calm"... or "oh, hello, there's some tension!" - and my body and soul respond with enthusiasm just for the attention. The goal is to "ground" in the parts that feel good, to use them as kind of "safe harbors" from which to launch explorations to the boundaries and hinterlands of my inner trouble spots, and to know I'm totally safe to examine and spelunk them when I'm ready. Just knowing what feelings exist where in my body literally gives me more control over my own life.

The more I do this - the more I give myself permission and intention to listen to my wordless body with love as a good mother listens to her infant - the more my body untwists, pops tensions, RELAXES... just from the simple practice of respectful attention and acknowledgment. I truly believe humanity's general experience would improve dramatically if and when more people do this, because it seems to me very clear: The quality of attention and acknowledgment each individual accords at the cellular level directly impacts what results from the collective power of attention to things outside our physical selves. What we collectively focus on, what we collectively give attention to, has sparked all of humanity's creations, for evil and for good.

As an enthusiastic student of what happens when The Brain Synchronizes with The Heart, and as part of the BrainScan practice, I'm discovering - up-close-and-personal, in a way that confirms intellectual and philosophical knowledge like no amount of book-learning can - that the body holds meta-communications of emotions that bury deep when unacknowledged, or suppressed, or mis-expressed. To simply and regularly Sense, Listen and Look provides a fast-track to conscious engagement in conversation with myself, which makes it easier to hear the quality and character of my own self-talk, which ultimately serves as a gatekeeper to the deepest places within, to the alluvia of self-knowledge that runs through each of us and holds the potential for greater emotional and spiritual maturity. 


Which brings me to forefathers and foremothers: The Ancestors. 


My friend Jen recently guided me through a ceremony for Samhain, the Celtic New Year, which coincides with Halloween and All Saints Day. The focus of the ceremony was on connecting in loving presence with those who'd passed, to specifically address and honor them, to have a conversation with them... which meant to speak to them, in a one-on-one with spirit, and to give the other a chance to respond... to listen for and to the response, with a present heart. As part of this, I made a point of creating connection with my paternal grandfather, a brilliant but violent (and ultimately homeless) alcoholic... and I'm telling you: I could feel body and soul his reply of regret for how he mistreated his family, of how he's working for redemption through service in universal spirit. 

In retrospect, I see clearly now the last month's arc in my life: From honoring in conversation the spirits who feed me from without... to honoring in conversation the soul housed in this body who feeds me from within... to being brought back to the beginning of this recent personal journey by my friend Michael's great question.

So... what is it we really hear in dialog with our bodies or our ancestors? Do we only hear what we want to hear or imagine we hear? If we hear no reply, does that mean that bodied-buried emotions/thoughts or ancestors' voices are absent, non-existent, nothing but a fool's errand to believe they exist? Or is is that we're not listening with our hearts because we have a block (of anxiety, or control, or fear, or whatever) to what we might hear? 

As I've listened to my body on and off over the years, I find tension regularly held in my upper back which, co-incidentally, synchronistically, is the backside of the heart chakra, the "receiving" side of the heart, what one body worker I've encountered refers to as the Gates of Ancestors. When those Gates are closed or otherwise blocked, it's hard for us to receive the incoming energy from the universe that's always available to fill our hearts. Through acknowledging the tension in my back - in giving myself permission to regard its feelings - the message I've gotten from this in recent days is that listening, really listening, is one of The Keys to humility... which leads to compassion... which increases tranquility. It requires us to yield to receiving information, and being conscious to how we process what we take in from it. This perspective is influenced not only by my recent immersions in the soulful universality of ancestral honoring, and the self-ish examination of my body's messages, but verified in the noticeably increased quality of the relationships I have with the dearest people around me. As we operate within, so we operate without.

"Do we hear the voices of our forefathers? They speak so loudly, but do we hear?" The question is so very appropriate for today, Thanksgiving of all days, it begs me to answer, "YES! Yes, I'm listening, and I want to truly hear what you're saying." 

Co-incidentally, the original Plymouth Colony's Thanksgiving is a personal story for me. My mom's side of the family was documented (back in the pre-internet days - no easy feat) back to the White family, who came over on the Mayflower and whose child Peregrine was birthed on the way over. The Pilgrim's experienced a horrible first year - wretched illnesses, lack of proper supplies, and a period known as the "Starving Time." Peregrine's mom, Susanne, was one of only several Mayflower women who lived to be at that first Thanksgiving, where it's said that they celebrated an association with locals who helped prevent the Colony's total demise through that most basic of human compassions: The sharing of food. Synchronistically, on my dad's side of the family, it's said that a woodsman took a First Nation's wife several generations back, an East Coast native who could've been related to those who fed the starving Pilgrims, they who helped establish a nation that would later slaughter the native peoples almost out of existence. 


That's a BigRub to get past. What's to celebrate in Thanksgiving when you know how the whole thing turned out for the ancestors of the colony's fabled Good Samaritans? Ancestors of my own starving people (a starvation wrought by their own dangerous acts) perpetrated genocide against the ancestors of my own people who helped to rescue them from starvation*. 

So... for Susanne and Peregrine and to my First Nation's kin, I knock on the door of my ancestral inner gate and ask directly: In these present times of converging crises and dueling dualities, what DO I hear you telling me? I sense... listen... look... and I recognize the authenticity of their answer by the relaxation I feel all throughout my body.  I interpret the echoes of their voices through a meditation chant recently taught to me by a dear four-year-old friend, which comes to mind the second I ask: "Teach Love. Teach Peace. Teach Hope." The message of the story of that first Thanksgiving rings strong and clear in these six simple words, which overflow with the power of of resilience, redemption, restoration, and renewal. I'm totally listening, and thank you for everything you did to literally give me this day... and oh, how I will enjoy today's Bread!

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From the vault of previous essays, only slightly re-tooled from the day I wrote it, Thanksgiving 2009.

*A tangent on these theme occurs to me today... Taxpayer-rescued (and tax-avoiding) banksters seek to commit financial genocide against the very taxpayers who rescued the banksters from financial ruin (a ruin wrought by their own dangerous acts). May our efforts to expose their deeds and remedy justice bear healthy fruit, and may we all occupy the blessings of giving and receiving - steeped in peace and love and gratitude - in abundance!

Cousin Evie's Three Rules for a Great Marriage, Redux

Today marks twenty-seven years of wedded life to my Shamanic Mensch of a Husband. It's a victory, really, given our astrological train wreck of a lovematch (critical Virgo meets carefree Gemini... hilarity and pathos ensue). I don't doubt we've been on some form of this go-round several lifetimes before... and this lifetime, by golly, this lifetime is The One! The one where we're healthfully rooted in love and compassion, forgiveness and restoration; the one where there's no fear of our shadows anymore, because when one heart dims the other is there shining a beam of love to light the way; and it's the one where we've truly entered a divinely co-creative Sacred Union, that golden ring of coupling. We know now to our marrow that no matter what occurs, no matter how lousy or turbulent life gets around us or within us, we're committed ~ deep "down" at the souls' level ~ to respect and just be decent (if not excellent!) to each other.

Unquestionably, it's been a challenging and thrilling roller coaster of a ride on our personal LoveTrain, something for which I'm ever more grateful with each passing season and year.

Recently, an about-to-be-married young man asked me: "What's the secret of your success?" I immediately thought of and relayed to him my husband's Cousin Evie's Three Rules for a Great Marriage, which she hand-wrote for me just prior to our 1984 nuptials (and which I'm sure I've got around here somewhere....). In honor of this special day, I'd like to present Evie's Rules from memory, acknowledging that they are, no doubt, colored by the tremendously textured experiences in loving relationship that have threaded and woven through my married life over these past twenty-seven years.

*        *        * 

1.  God, in God's ultimate grace and wisdom, made Man and Woman differently. Thank the Heavens!  Learn to appreciate and to respect those differences, which can enrich and balance our lives in untold measure.

2.  The things we say in frustration, confusion and anger... we can never take them back, even if that's what we would truly do if we had a time machine. Know when to hold your tongue. Squeeze it really, really tight if you have to (it might create a bit of laugh to actually do it). When conscious of "those" feelings, take a few breaths before speaking aloud.

3.  Those totally cute old couples you see holding hands as they walk, or dancing like they were made for each other on the party floor... you can be sure they didn't just start doing that. It's a practice, one that's oh-too-easy to forget when Life "gets in the way," and one that's never too late to start again when Love is on the proverbial line.

*        *        * 

Whether you're married or not, dear reader, I hope and pray that in whatever way ~ small or large ~ Evie's Rules might inspire you to consider the quality of relationship in your own life, even (and perhaps especially) with your own self. The notions of respecting the balance of the Divine Feminine and Divine Male within ourselves, of controlling the quality of our outer and inner speech, and of practicing the gentle art of kind and compassionate human connection... such things are Important and Needed in our World.

And to Cousin Evie, you beautiful force of nature, wherever the heck you are now (and making a note to find you and your original letter) ~> THANK YOU. You helped to nurture and sustain this particular union more than perhaps you could know, certainly more than I could say... and your presence in that hand-written letter of wisdom has proven perhaps the most treasured gift of all those we were fortunate to receive 'lo those twenty-seven years ago.

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I Wore Our Wedding Pearls Today

Once upon a time, I was on a business trip, alone in my hotel room at the ANA Hotel, overlooking Yerba Buena Park and the Moscone Center. I'd left my husband a voice mail message, then felt somewhat unsettled that I'd sounded too "needy" (an insecurity to which I openly cop, and struggle with much less lo' this decade and a half-ish later, thanks in no small part to his continuing streams and waves of love and generous patience).  To help myself address how I felt, I wrote a little poem about leaving the message, using one of those 4"x 6" sheets of hotel paper (which is all-but-surely the only reason I can place which hotel it was, as there were a number of business trips at that time, many of them to San Francisco, where yes, I do always leave at least a piece of my heart).

Anyway, just this morning I again found the poem ~ as I have on occasion over the years, interpreting its meaning to myself in different ways at any given time of rediscovery, depending on the "phase" our marriage was undergoing at any said given time ~ tucked deep into the pocket of a pair of overalls I haven't worn in a long time (and also, in a way, rediscovered this morning). So multi-folded, so soft and torn and worn from years of handling and re-folding, so wanting to be read aloud with the delight I feel at this phase of our lives that, well... here's a go at it (^_^)

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One Friday Night

g'head ~> click to look deeper into the view from above the clouds...
tilt your screen... and see how the colors change (^_^)

it was a moment

divinely inspired

in the waves

of wind and lightning

and gentle showers

of love

and in that moment

a rainbow washed over us

anointing our passions

with its blessings

while the roots of our lives

thrust ever deeper

intertwining

carefully, tenderly

finding a balance

between sucking up all the nutrients

and providing our fruits of sustenance
an endless manna 
made from life itself 

Photo credit: Dylan Weinberg <3

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Delilah and the Dragons

"Halloooo, Stars!"
Source: Google Images
Illustration by Ruth Hallock

Once upon a lovely time, there was a beautiful little girl named Delilah, who had shimmering-shining hair that glistened and glinted like gold in the moonlight.

Delilah was a wise, creative, somewhat stubborn and very curious little girl... and fortunate, too. She had a beautiful, comfortable room, which was ringed all the way around ~ just at the edge of the high ceiling ~ with rainbow colored diamonds that Daddy had carefully and painstakingly painted (just for her, just before she was born), and there was a big window that looked out at a stand of trees and showed her the twinkling stars each night.

Within the room, there was a cozy bed, a dresser inside which a fresh supply of clean clothes was always folded, pretty dresses hanging in her closet, lots of fun toys to play with, and there were oodles of illustrations ~ mostly of princesses and fantastic beasties, drawn and colored by her own hand ~ pinned up all over the lower part of the walls. Delilah always had plenty of vibrantly delicious food to eat, too, and best of all ~ the very best of all for any child, and especially for one of such spirit and imagination ~ she had a Mommy and Daddy who loved her very much, and who had lots of patience.

When it was time for her to get ready for bed, Delilah's Mommy and Daddy would take turns in the evenings giving her a bath (so they could each spend what the grown-ups called "quality Alone-Time" with their Best Girl); brushing her teeth (which she really didn't like, and which sometimes made her feel like spitting fire at her parents, even though she loved them very much, too); and generally going through a "routine" (which they hoped and prayed, each night, would help Delilah drift easily off to Dreamland).

The routine was (pretty much) always the same. After the bath and teeth-brushing, Delilah would put on her favorite princess pajamas ~ the ones she would wear every day, all day long if she could, regardless of all the other lovely clothes she had ~ and ask to play her favorite make-believe game, "The Princess and the Prince", which of course Mommy and Daddy would play with her (mostly because they enjoyed the game, too). Usually, she liked to act out a few select, favorite parts with them, telling them what to do and say, and almost always directing them to pretend that the princess and prince were saving each other from an evil force, like a nasty monster or a flame-breathing dragon. It was great fun, and of course the princess and prince would always triumph over their nasty foe.

"MORE,
please?!"
Illustration credit:
 Flickr

Then Delilah would get into her comfy, cozy bed for what her parents always hoped would soon be sleeping, but first... Mommy and Daddy would take turns reading bedtime stories. Delilah knew her parents loved it when she would look at books with or without them, so every night she would ask for more books and more books, hoping to stall off the inevitable moment when Mommy or Daddy would turn off the light and wish her a good night.

When Mommy and Daddy were finally exhausted from reading books to her, they would say,
     "No more books, sweet Delilah. It's time for BED."


And sometimes ~ sweet blessing of the heavens! ~ Delilah would actually settle in at that point, and drift off to sleep. But sometimes, when she'd had a very bad day because she'd fallen down at the park, or because she'd misplaced her favorite doll, or was frustrated because Mommy and Daddy wouldn't let her have another cookie before bedtime, or because she was good and angry about being made to brush her teeth, Delilah would throw a tantrum. Not just any tantrum, but a TANTRUM!


It would start with a tremble, and her tiny jaw would set very hard. Her eyes would tear with sad rage, her sweet face would tighten and take the shape of a little monster, her skin would turn boiling red, and she could feel the fire rising inside as her frustration bubbled up and bursted out like flaming words from her mouth:
     "I want MORE books! I want to hear 'Sleeping Beauty' again!!!"

"Wanna go 
for a ride...?"
Illustration credit: Google Images

And as her bad feelings were boiling over onto the people she loved the most ~ trusting that they would love her, too (no matter what she did, even if they didn't like what she did sometimes), knowing that she was in the safest room in the world ~ that was the point at which she would start to think about her favorite part of "Sleeping Beauty": The Dragon! 


Then she would think about the Dragon some more, and then she would think about Mommy and Daddy leaving her alone in her room WITH THE DRAGON! 


So, when the time came on one of "those" nights when Mommy and Daddy would kiss her goodnight and say,
     "No more stories, now. All done for tonight. We'll see in you in the morning, Dear One..." 

. . . Delilah would think to herself,
     "Yeah, right! See me in the morning? No you WON'T, because the DRAGON will burn me with its fiery breath, and tear me into pieces with its horrible teeth, and eat me before morning if you leave me alone with it!"

But instead of saying that, which felt too scary even to speak aloud, she would cry to her parents,
    "MOMMY! DADDY! Don't LEAVE me! There's a ginormous, angry DRAGON IN MY ROOM!" 

Then Mommy would say,
      "Oh, my dearest. The Dragon can be very scary. But it's just in your imagination, my love. It's not REAL. You're SAFE here in your room. We'll be very close by and won't let anything harm you."

"Grrrrrr! Give me all your 
coooookieeees!"
Illustration credit: Google Images

And Delilah would respond,
   "NO! There IS a nasty DRAGON in my room! And an evil snake, plus a bad man! AND there's a MONSTER in my closet!!!" 

Then Daddy would jump up into the middle of the room, whirling around like a Kung Fu master, saying,

     "Just let me at 'em! Where are they?! Are they hiding under your covers?!" 

And Daddy would grab a big blow-up bat from the toy box, and beat it vigorously around Delilah's bed ~ where Mommy would join her to sit and cuddle her closely, while Daddy would roust the nasty dragon and the evil snake and the bad man AND the monster from their hiding places, and scare them right out the window ~ as Delilah's frightened yells would turn to squeals of satisfied delight, to which Daddy would respond,
     "Hah! They think they can scare ME? They think they can scare MY little girl?!"

Then Daddy would run to the closet and beat the blow-up bat around inside it, saying in a loud voice,
      "Hey! Any bad beasties in here better get out NOW before me and the Mama Bear get roaring angry with you!"

And all three of them would smile and giggle together ~ Delilah flashing her most radiant cheek-to-cheek grin, exposing her clean, gleaming teeth (well, most of them, as some were missing then) ~ while Daddy would make silly faces and hit himself over the head softly with the blow-up bat to make everyone giggle and laugh some more. And Mommy would squeeze Delilah ever so gently, asking in a soft and loving way,

      "Do you think they're all gone now? Do you feel safe now, Sweetness?"

"Yep, they're all gone now,
except..."
Photo credit: Google Images

Delilah would then hopefully (if cautiously) look around her room ~ quickly but surely glancing at each of the rainbow colored diamonds edged all the way around at the ceiling (to make sure no evil snakes were hiding up there), swiftly examine her cozy bed (to make sure no nasty dragons were under her quilt), and scan the toys about the room (to be certain no bad men or monsters were hiding among her things) ~ and sure enough, all of the mean ol'beasties would be gone!

Well, that is... except for one. (They'd been through the routine a number of times, so Mommy and Daddy were always ready for this part, but still it would make their hearts skip a beat or two . . .) After all the nasty beasties were gone ~ after Daddy had scared them all away, and Mommy had soothed her fears ~ Delilah would exclaim,

     "WAIT! There's one left! And it's a sweet little baby dragon! Oh, come here sweet little dragon... I will name you Puff."  

"Do you remember the first night
you arrived in my room...?"
Illustration Credit: Google Images

Dear little Delilah would reach out her arms, and the tiny dragon would climb into Delilah's soft little hands, which were always cupped with tender, loving care. And she would say to the baby,

     "Do you miss your Mommy and Daddy? You can sleep with ME, sweet little dragon. You can be my special, special baby dragon!"

Then she would hold out her warm, gently cupped hands and say to her Mommy and Daddy,
     "Look! It's my sweet baby dragon named Puff! Do you want to kiss him?"

Mommy and Daddy would lean over ~ both of them wearing sweet, wide smiles ~ and kiss Delilah's hands (where they figured Puff would be, as they could not see him), and Delilah would enjoy seeing and feeling and smelling AND hearing her little dragon wriggle in delight.  Then Mommy and Daddy would kiss Delilah good night, and Delilah would settle down onto her soft pillow, nestle in under her warm quilt (being very careful not to knock about Puff), and place the sweet baby dragon right next to her chest. Then ~ in her best, soft whisper ~ she would say into his ear, while nestling him close,
     "There you go, little one... Listen to my heartbeat. It's telling you that you're safe now."

"I'm dreeeaming of a 
whiiiiiite dragonnnnn...."
Photo credit: Google Images

Knowing that this signaled Delilah was quite hopefully ready to settle in for sleeping ~ at last! ~ Mommy and Daddy would say as they turned out the light,
     "Good night, Dear One... Sleep tight... Sweet dreams ... We LOVE you... See you in the morning!"

And Delilah ~ like baby Puff ~ now feeling very safe, would smile and respond,
     "I love YOU! See you in the morning..."  

. . . then turn to Puff and smile, and say in her best, soft whisper,
     "And I love you, TOO, and I'll see YOU in the morning! Now, let's count allllll the rainbow diamonds you can see on my wall. Ready? I'll start. One... Two... Three... Four... Five... Six... SevenzzzzzZZZZzzzzz..."  

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Illustration credit: Google Images
...or is it? (^_^)

What the World Needs Now (Besides Love Sweet Love)...

... in my fervent opinion, is a plant called hemp.

Illustration credit: The Cap Times
"Make the most you can of the Indian Hemp seed 
and sow it everywhere."
~ George Washington

Oh, sure ::sigh:: a select group of woefully mis-informed people are still freaked out by Reefer Madness, but puh-lease! That ridiculously worn 1936 propaganda saw is so dull and broken, non? Besides, while the THC'd medicinal/recreational variety of hemp (known widely as marijuana) has been scientifically demonstrated multiple times as healthfully efficacious in a variety of ways ~ which folks have known for thousands of years (not to mention that marijuana use can cut the size of cancerous tumors in half... though I did, just now, mention it)  ~ it's quite especially the Importance of the much mis-understood and deeply under-discussed Industrial Hemp that I'm digging at just now.

Stop and think (if you haven't already): Even in 1938, Popular Mechanics magazine had counted 25,000 uses for industrial hemp, so *IMAGINE* how many more uses we could have and discover for it now. From this one amazing plant ~ which requires very little fertilizer and no pesticides (as it has no enemies, save man) ~ we can make environmentally gentler paper (which doesn't yellow, and lasts for hundreds of years), textiles, powerhouse foods, fuels, oil-dispersants, lubricants, carbon-negative building materials, rope, tape, dynamite...

Truly, billions of very green dollars can be had to help regenerate our stagnant economy; family farms by the thousands can be revitalized; countless quiet industrial plants can be retooled and brought back to life, particularly as hemp processing is best conducted close to where the crop is grown; many forms of dis-ease can be remediated from the gentle and healthful nature of this God-given plant; farming it is much kinder to Mama Earth than a food-and-fuel crop like corn ~ again, as the growth and cultivation of hemp requires no pesticides ~ plus its root structures actually help to heal or phytoremediate soil damaged by chemicals, radiation, or other abuses; and re-legalizing hemp will help us to truly begin reducing the environmentally toxic effects of fertilizers, pesticides and processed, genetically-modified foods produced and foisted upon nations ~ whether industrialized or developing ~ by multi-national behemoths like Monsanto... But these benefits and more are, in my mind, wrongfully denied to us, all for the vicious sake of profits for an entrenched industrial-financial-political-pharmaceutical-"health"care GreedMachine.

Illustration credit: AboveTheIgnorance.org

Hemp is presently a legal crop in Australia, Austria, Canada, Chile, China, Denmark, Egypt, Finland, France, Germany, Great Britain, Hungary, India, Japan, Netherlands, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Russia, Slovenia, Spain, Switzerland, Thailand, and Ukraine. So why the heck are we not sowing and growing this amazing plant, abundantly, HERE?! In the ol'USofA?! 


I call AntiReefer MADness in the name of protecting an obesely-entrenched status quo, which behaves as if it doesn't want us to be happily "high" and healthy from eating and otherwise using a beneficent and natural growth of our blessed planet Earth, but would rather have us drunk on booze, amped up on chemically processed and colored foods, and dependent on expensive medical care and pharmaceuticals. (Not to mention ~ though, again, I shall ~ the USofA is uncomfortably saddled with a deleteriously produced cotton crop and its attendant pesticides and fertilizers; thanks very much, not, Mr. William Randolph Hearst and Dupont, Inc.) 


Actually, did you know that ~ ironically ~ the first "marijuana" law in America, crafted in the colony of Jamestown, made it a requirement to grow hemp (punishable if one didn't)? Or that it was considered legal tender in selected colonial states? Or that Founding Father Ben Franklin used hemp in his paper mills, that Thomas Paine printed his pamphlets on hemp paper, and that both Presidents Washington and Jefferson were hemp farmers?

For heaven's sake: It's our nation's BIRTHRIGHT! 


But there is a bright light of Common$ense on the horizon: In a major development, California's State Senate recently passed the Industrial Hemp Farming Bill, SB 676, which would at the very least result in a five county pilot program for its cultivation. The bill still requires approval by the Assembly ~ not a simple walk in the park by any means, as this bill has been through the sausage mill of legislative debate, in various forms, for a number of years (and THANK you for hanging in there to push it through, State Senator Mark Leno and all who've supported him ~ but if (please, oh PLEASE!) it makes it through that gauntlet, we can be hopeful for signature by Governor Jerry Brown. 


As goes California, so goes the nation...? Heck, yeah! C'mon. Let's DO this, We the People... 

HEMP FOR VICTORY!

Historical illustration credit: Google Images
DigitallyWeasle'd via ICanHasCheezBurger.com (^_^)


Didja know? Betsy used hemp as the fabric for our first flag...

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"Hemp is of the first necessity

to the wealth & protection

of the country"

Thomas Jefferson, U.S. President

6:27 with George & John

Enchanting Sunset Mists
Laguna, California

Somewhat greater enchantment by these magical mists is available for the receiving...
Just click anywhere on the photo... G'head! Might "set" yer mood for this one... (^_^)

If what we think is who we are

Then what we're thinking here so far got us to here

So, mine what is in our minds

Grateful for the call that binds us to be near

Yes, something's happened

This is clear

Veils are parting

And we hear the heavens sing

Channeled through the mists above

"Come together now with love in everything!"

It's so real, to unreal

Then back again

Reality unfolds in our dreams

So mystically magical

And tantalizingly practical

From within to the without

It's in play without a doubt as we evolve

Insular to tribes redone

Tending each and everyone with full resolve

Yes, we're changing, re-arranging

Shifting paradigms

Embracing new and old to find our way 

To better times . . . again

It's so unreal, back to real

Then back again

Dreams come true in ways we never dreamed

So mystically magical

And tantalizing practical

Yes, well, something's happened

This is clear

Veils are parting

And we hear the heavens ring

There's shouting from the mists above

"Come together now, in love, for everything!

Please, come together

~ right now ~

with love for every thing."

If what we think is who we are

Then what we're thinking here, so far, got us to here

Let's mine what is in our minds

Grateful for the call that binds us. . . 

~*         ~*        ~*        ~*

C'mon . . . C'mon!

 Let's light this candle called 3rd Rock . . . 

Light her with our Tenacity, our Courage, our GoodHumor, 

our Love, and an Abundance of HumanKINDness <3

Remembering an Officer and a Gentleman

Photo Credit: Joey Vugalari


Rest in Peace (or Party on Dad ;-) Blessed Peacemaker
Arlington National Cemetery
December 13, 2010

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Alden was a wise one, he gave us sage advice...
"Don't tease water buffalo and always use fresh ice,
Be good to your mother, show respect for self,
Clean edges and corners then the middle takes care of itself.

Read all the directions, rise to see the dawn,
Get back on that horse, know when to sacrifice your pawn,
   Give to children roots and wings, dance (just because),
Pets are our family, and don't regret what was..."

Alden died quite peacefully, on my birthday.
Told my mom, "I love you," then went to sleep to stay.
When the grief descends on me, I hear his wise voice say,
"Treat it like a sore throat, and it'll go away."

Oh, Alden, if there's just one thing I hope you hear me say...
I'm Daddy's Girl forever, your love is here to stay.


~*        ~*        ~*        ~*        ~*

Memo to Colonel Alden Dale, USAF (Ret.) of Starbase Orion's Belt
1. Memorial Day has taken on a whole new meaning for many, because of you, Dear Sir.
2. Course set... Goin' to Mach 1   ;-)

xoxox

Lovely Visits

Helen
Long may you Light & Weave our Souls
xoxox

Since you've been gone 

I've been dreaming my dear

of parties and of parades

And you're frequently there

in a natural state

where's it's casually,

 comfortably getting late

As I flow in the waves

of the ripples you leave

in the fabric of souls

you've chosen to weave

in your Life

~*        ~*        ~*

In Tender Memory of a Divinely Feminine, Consciously Co-Creative Comrade-in-Spirit 

During three decades of living in the City of Angels, I've heard coyotes howl from the canyons just once...

it was at the moment this Bright Light was laid to the Earth in final rest.

Although that was almost 18 years ago, if I close my eyes and sit still... I can still hear them.

She subsequently "visited" my dreams (and those of others, I don't doubt) for about two weeks running...

appropriate for a woman who was always a Heavenly Hostess.

With great love and appreciation to Helen's daughter

for sharing the photo, and for her sustained friendship.

Bringing Up HumanKind...?

Photo credit: Google Images
Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant & Baby
in Bringing Up Baby, RKO 1938

(With apologies to "Professor David Huxley") 

When humanity is wrestling its climate, 

facing down converging crises largely of our making, 

we're in no position to run.

Knockin' on Heaven's Door

Photo credit: Google Images

;-)

So, yeah... Bob Dylan turned 70 today. I heard about it a lot during my drive-time home, while listening (like I do) to KPFK ~ 90.7 on the FM dial here in the City of Angels and surrounding areas (and, yes, this is a shameless plea to program it into your radios, or listen on-line via the handy link provided in the Root Cellar of this blog, or even better become a subscriber to this fiercely independent, jewel of a publicly funded radio station) ~ but still... I hadn't planned to write about Mr. Dylan's natal observation. (Full disclosure, I haven't planned much of anything I'm doing on Pollyanna Grounding so far, it just kind of... happens I suppose, and is happening right now, obviously.) Anyway....

I was just now dialoguing with some girlfriends about the latest rash of tornadoes pummeling parts of America ~ really nasty ones these, like the kind that come around every, 50, or 100, or 357 (etc.) years, irregardless of humanity's obvious influence on the all-important carbon parts per million ~ and praying for those whose lives have been torn asunder, hoping they find shelter, comfort, hope, a safe a caring place to grieve...

And then, in my head, I heard Mr. Dylan singing "Knock knock knockin' on Heaven's Door" and something (someone?) told me to post the song (Note: I found a really super rendition for this post, too, where he was joined by Roger McGuinn and Joan Baez... but the video was was blocked by the "Web Police" within a day of posting *sheesh!* ~ apparently pulled from the interwebs even [Happy Bob's Birthday to his fans?] ~ and I've substituted the above photo of Mr. Zimmerman's original 45 ;-)  And then another voice in my head said, "What? You just wrote about Harvey Milk. Why write back-to-back about personal heroes, even if for different reasons and experiences related to them? Not."

But then a sweet feeling came over me ~ and it's macabre that it felt sweet because, I mean, c'mon... death and destruction from tornadoes are not sweet ~ but the sweetness, the sweetness of souls passed and ascending to heaven must be, certainly, preferable to the infliction of fierce winds ripping their very bodies from their spirits.

What's to learn from this? Why do I feel compelled to ponder the relationship, as prompted by a song, between a rockstar's birthday and mass deaths by a tragic weather event? I'm not sure I know, yet. And that tornadoes pummeled Joplin on Bob's birthday, especially in the context of a song that struck my heart hard tonight, just seems... I don't know. Wickedly poignant? Or was it, maybe perhaps, blessedly poignant...?

I mean, if it was, as the proverbial "they" says, "their time" to go, then perhaps those 130+ brothers and sisters of 3rd Rock who transcended our plane today from just that one city ~ as part of one catastrophical event ~ well, is it feasibly less of a jolt to the collective, localized energetic system that, under the circumstance, at least they got to make the approach to knock on Heaven's Door with a group? Would that idea bring comfort, maybe even in some small way, to those left behind? Does that make it any easier for anyone to die, say, than drowned in too much booze and heroine, alone in a hotel room far from a place that used to be home (Janis...)?

Which all but begs the question: Is it the notion of what they believe to be a Divinely-coordinated group-passing that appeals to those (who are also our brothers and sisters) of the eschatalogical Camping camp? Are they rendered by their pastor to be so afraid of living ~ living as they do in their own mass-manipulated fear of God's wrath in whatever ways ~ that they choose by their Free Will to not share God's Love here, unless it's with other members of the gene-pool who entertain and nurture themselves in spiritual practices of identical dogma, with shared charitable causes? (Note to self: Check into Camping's charitable causes ;-)  Is it possible that their souls are silently screaming out to be taken Home in one big group (rescheduling it, and rescheduling it, and rescheduling it) ~ while shouting "DOOM!"through bullhorns  to pedestrians and motorists at busy intersections spotted throughout the land ~ the better perhaps to cope, at a group soul level, during what must be one heckuva mutlidimensional transition into what I believe is Pure, Essential, Eternal Love?

My questions just seem to keep leading to more questions.  This path's course could wander quite awhile, I expect, so I'll ease back on it because I'm tired. Bone tired in a really good way actually. Tired from living so much and so well on good balance today. And thankful. Thankful for it all. For my family, my friends, for the 1,000+ reads of this blog in over two dozen countries in less than three weeks (oh my goodness, THANK YOU!), for a job that affords a cozy enough life to share with others, for the deliciously comfortable bed that awaits me when I'm ready to fall into it and let its warm yumminess envelope me...

And ~ perhaps of course ~ it now occurs to me, a massive earthquake could strike the San Andreas at any minute, and in this moment that's okay. If that should happen, and it's so bad that it takes out me, my family, my dog and cats... I find in this moment that, yeah. I would. I would, macabre as it may sound (perhaps even to myself after sleeping on the idea), find some comfort in sticking with my group. (Or maybe that's just the tired talking...?)
          Aside to the Creator: Not that I should tempt Fate.  My main plan, as we have discussed, is that I live in the reflection of your Grace to be a very old lady, then pass as pleasantly and happily as I can with dear ones near. I'm very happy to stick with that, should it please You to do the same... Namaste.

So, yeah... that kind of brings it back to Bob, because I do hope for him a similar plan ~ to live to be a still much older man, should that please him. And so (I can hardly believe I'm stringing these thoughts into the same paragraph, but here goes): Happy 70th Birthday, Bob. Thanks for the music, for the Attitude, for the courage to be weird and profound... May the next round of your life here extend to you as many good times and freedom of mind as you've given all of us put together. And Godspeed to the Joplinites who travelled today to Heaven's Door... May it open wide for them, with a host of angels to welcome them Home.

~*        ~*        ~*        ~*        ~*        ~*        ~*

"TORNADOS LEAD US... The convection worsens, the sky spinning where passenger pigeons & buffalo & teeming life are replaced by cars tossed over the tops of houses. The Earth leads us now. What would a human leader say in a speech? She/he might sound like a surreal poet, trying to find a way back to life." ~ Rev. Billy, The Church of Earthlajuah