Christmas lasts for a very long time at my house. We have a tree that still stands. Granted I look at it and say to myself, “I’ve got to get that thing out of the house.” But, it still remains. Romona and I do have plans to take it out in the next couple of days, thank God.
Now this may be a small miracle I’m not sure, but I was looking at the tree and I noticed something different, the tree has sprouted new buds. It is growing in the house. The Christmas tree that is slowly turning into a Valentines tree is also alive and well. It has gained the status of a houseplant. Romona has determined that we have an honest to goodness miracle happening and should give the tree religious status. She believes that the tree is happy and we should figure out a way to save it from the awful fate of burning in the outside fireplace. I agree and will try to figure out a way we can save it.
The question scientifically that I have is, “How did this tree re-sprout, and what is keeping it alive? The tree sits in a corner of the room next to a window so sun does shine on it occasionally when the window shade is open so photosynthesis can occur, and I have been putting water in it from time to time. So, I supposed it is conceivable that we have a living plant in the room.
I believe that my Romona has a power that is keeping the tree alive. She talks to the tree and plays music to it. She tells it that she’ll put hearts and flowers on it for Valentines, and keeps it in a positive light. I can see her helping the tree and nurturing it, she has used her magic to bring the tree back to life, amazing.
So now I have a task, How to take the tree out of the house and preserve it and keep it happy? How do I re-plant it outside to take it’s place again with the other trees of the wilderness? These are questions I must answer before it goes outside. Romona and I have an experiment on our hands in the form of a minor miracle. I wonder, hmmmm.
A long time ago there was a man that lived alone on the edge of an enchanted forest. His home was small and sparse, but he had every thing he needed.
The man would wake every morning as the sun began to rise and pray at an old tree outside of his house. Then he would walk to the stream just inside the enchanted woods and bath in it’s cool clear water. The man lived a very simple existence and was happy next to the enchanted woods.
The man hadn’t seen other people in a long time. He was not sure how long it had been, but he knew it was a long time because he had to repair his house at least four times, that he remembered. He became curious and decided to take a walk. He walked down the path that leads to the road that would lead to the village he remembered down the hill.
On the way he came upon a child playing in the grass next to a flower garden. Watching the child play the man smiled remembering what it was like to be so young. He walked on remembering the games of his youth.
The man came to the edge of the village, it wasn’t the way he remembered it. The village was noisy and smelled bad. He could hear dogs barking around some corner and came upon another child. This child was not playing as the other child was. This child was sitting quietly looking to the distance with a tear in the eye. The man watched this child for a time and felt a growing sadness within the pit of his soul. He looked around him and saw no one else, only an old building that hadn’t been kept up for a long time and the soul less child. He walked on.
Finely he came to the center of the village that had grown to a city since last he visited. He stood next to a large fountain thinking about the two children he had seen while walking here. While he stood there looking into the water thinking, another man walked up to him and asked, “Sir, may I help you?”
This man was young and dressed in a uniform that announced his presence as an authority figure. The older man looked at the younger man in the uniform and said, “No, it is I who can help you. You and your people have forgotten where you came from and who you are. You have lived many years here expanding your village into a great city without understanding what it is to expand your inner being. You have grouped yourselves into one place and have killed the souls of your young. The ones that live outside your walls are well, but unaware of you as you are of them. No, you can’t help me, but thank you.”
Then he walked back the way he came. He came to the lost child, lifting the child up in his arms. The two of them then came to the playing child, who met them with joy in the eyes. This child too came with the man. He took them to the enchanted forest next to the holy tree in hopes that he might save the people of the city.
It had been over 200 years since he last walked the way of the village and his curiosity had brought the village back to him.
I know a woman named Dream Walker. She dreams things that could be and come to past, she sees things that might happen that eventually do, and she feels things that other’s feel. Dream Walker is a seer, has empathy, a dreamer, and one who feels deeply the things around her. She is the one the forever occupies my thoughts. She is my wife.
Dream Walker came by her name in the traditional manner. It fell upon her from a medicine man with a sense of strange humor that watched her carefully for many months before walking up to her and saying, “From now on you are called Dream Walker.” Then walked away from her without an explanation. That was I.
Dream Walker has lived up to her name with great expectation and has made the one who named her very proud. Walking this dream with her has become the great joy of my life.
I would like to take some time to write a serious note. Today I spoke with a friend I hadn’t talked to for about a year. He is a disabled gentleman that has spent his life in a wheel chair and occasionally walking on crutches. He suffers from a form of spinabifida, a disease that seriously effects the spine and as a result he is a paraplegic. He is a tax guy and has a business consulting people on their taxes and business dealings.
Due to his illness he was afflicted with an injury just before the Christmas holiday. As a result he wound up in the hospital going through surgery and recovery for a little more than three months. Now, my friend being an intelligent fellow gave a relative the responsibility of paying his home mortgage and bills while he was away. The mortgage did not get paid on time and was three months late. His mortgage company foreclosed on his property and when he returned from the hospital found out he had been moved into an apartment with no way of getting his home back. After 28 years of paying on a 30 years mortgage my friend has lost his house. The mortgage company was unwilling to be flexible with him even after he caught up with the back payments, they foreclosed and now he is in an apartment and his house stands atop a hill in a nice location empty.
On top of that, my friend had “mans best friend” to keep him company. He had a black and tan dog that lifted his spirits, made him happy, and kept him from feeling the pains of loneliness. Because of all he has gone through he has lost his four-legged friend because, “No dogs allowed.” This is a travesty.
It occurs to me that the problem with our economic situation in this country is not because of the people carrying debt, but rather with the lenders themselves that have let greed and malice guide them down the road to our nations economic hardship. We the little people are now the foot fungus of those with money enough to forget where this nation started. And I’m angry.
Iktomi was the first man. He was full of pride that Tunkasila picked him to be the first. Iktomi wandered the world exploring every corner to make it his own. Now Tunkasila set to work populating the world. He created Tatanka first to care for Iktomi. It was Tatanka’s task to take care of Iktomi and the Pteoyate, the first people.
Now Iktomi was so full of pride that he was becoming arrogant. He felt Oyate should listen to all he said, and do all he said to do. Iktomi was so full of himself that he was growing ignorant of the needs of Oyate and all that Tunkasila was putting on Ina Mahka. Tunkasila was very wise and saw the things Iktomi was doing and spoke with Tatanka. Tatanka had a wonderful idea, he said to Tunkasila, “Lets make Iktomi carry the burden of Oyate for a period of time to teach him a lesson.”
Tunkasila thought about what Tatanka said and created a plan. Together they decided to trap Iktomi in a snare to teach him a lesson. What they didn’t know was that Iktomi was listening behind Inyan and knew what they were going to do. But, Tunkasila is very wise and knows what others don’t know. He knew the thoughts of Iktomi and was prepared.
Iktomi was also forming a plan; he thought he could outsmart Tunkasila and Tatanka. Iktomi created a trap made from bindings and hides to catch Tatanka, but Tunkasila and Tatanka had made a snare where Iktomi would never find it, right in front of his eyes.
As Tatanka ran past Iktomi the ground shook and Iktomi tried to spring his trap, but the trap backfired and got caught in the snare that Tunkasila had put before him. The snare and the trap became entwined wrapping Iktomi up in a ball. Tatanka ran past again catching Iktomi trapped in the ball and began dragging him behind.
Iktomi began crying for help from Tunkasila, but Tunkasila ignored Iktomi’s cries. Ina Mahka had pity for Iktomi and pleaded that Tunkasila be lenient. Tatanka asked Tunkasila to have pity on the first man and give him a task to pay for his sins. Tunkasila thought long about this and came up with an idea. He created Iktomi in a new form with the responsibility of carrying the travois with him always to care for the Oyate and Tatanka. Tunkasila gave Iktomi eight legs and eight hands to carry the burden and eight eyes to see clearly what he must do. From that day forward Iktomi became the creator of the travois and the maker of traps. The Oyate began learning the lessons Iktomi has to share through his right actions. Mitakuye Oyatsin Hetchetu Yelo, Ho.
Here’s a Lakota language lesson for the story: Iktomi = Spider Tatanka = Bison Tunkasila = Grandfather, a term of endearment for the Creator Oyate = People Pte = First Pte Oyate = First People Ina = Mother Mahka = Earth Ina Mahka = Mother Earth Inyan = Stone, and Mitakuye Oyatsin Hetchetu Yelo, Ho = For all of my relations it is so.
Enjoy the story. Read it twice, first through then again after reading the definitions of the words. Have fun.
Memories are like little recordings of time and space that we carry around with us in our heads. I remember stuff that makes me chuckle and I say, “I’m glad I remember.” I remember stuff that makes me cry and I say, “Why did I remember that?”
Depending upon the experience you had that created the memory will determine your future response to re-living that experience. I have a memory that was terrifying at the time that when I think about it now is funny as ****. I’ll share it with you.
I was about twelve years old, my dad and I stopped off at a Dairy Queen to get an ice cream. It was real hot on a summer day and we had been throwing hay most of the day and figured we deserved a cool tasty treat. Now, this part needs a little explanation, my dad was a high school teacher during the school year and had many an interesting student.
I ordered a root beer float and my dad ordered a vanilla milk shake, his favorite. We waited for a few minutes for our tasty delights. During our wait one of my dad’s students, we’ll call him Carl, came out front to talk with us. My dad was a popular teacher. Carl for some strange reason was acting odd and laughing a lot. My dad must have just thought that Carl was on drugs or some other thing. After all this was the early seventies.
Anyways, Carl went back inside the kitchen area of the place and out came with our delights. I started drinking my drink, enjoying the root beer and the ice cream when I heard my dad swear and jump back. He dropped his shake and out from the glass flew a great big water bug. In Montana water bugs get pretty big in certain parts of the river.
My dad’s wonderful student, Carl had put the bug in his drink as a practical joke. It scared the heck out of dad and made me run out the door. Afterwards we laughed, but poor Carl lost his job, he didn’t know the boss was behind the door watching as it happened. I guess putting bugs in drinks is not Dairy Queen policy.
So you see memories are what you make of them. You can manipulate them and change them to suit your needs. A bad memory can become a learning tool and eventually a good memory. I have allot of learning to do.
A long time ago I met a man that could look at a person a little sideways and tell them what was going on with them. He would give the person a quick visual check up then start a conversation with them that would open them up to any suggestion he may put out there. After the conversation was started and the information passed he would lay hands on the person usually about the head and shoulders. There might be a sudden shocked look, a gasp of breath, or the person passing out: then the realization of a malady gone. Then he would always say, “If you’ve experienced a miracle this day, never say who you’ve come to see.”
Humility in the face of the Creator is always good. Healing is an act of creation. If you’ve been given the gift of healing you’ve been given the gift of creation and should stand humble in the face of it. Reiki is like that; we practitioners of Reiki are only the channels for universal energies. We are conduits for creation to do it’s thing, create.
Here’s an experiment, focus your attention on the picture that is attached to this article. Breath and relax, let all your tensions go into the picture and if you experience a miracle from reading this text don’t tell anyone, just enjoy.
When the world was young there were those people that walked the land singing in creation. They were the magi, the wizards, and sorcerers, they were the holy ones, the people of God. The original wisdom keepers were the tellers of great stories and the keepers of man’s history. This is how we as a people grew into our present cultures, through the acts and love of the magi, our grandparents.
In the steps of Russia lived a people known as the Kazaks. They were known as the best horsemen in the world. What is not commonly known is that they also have a rich heritage of majick and myth. These are the descendents of Genghis Khan, who ruled the greatest empire of that time, greater even than Rome. The Kazaks have a story of the singing in of creation. A maiden of fair skin wandered the desert alone singing for a mate. She was alone and covered in a black blanket decorated in bright gems. She sang for many years alone. Early one morning far in the East she heard another song. As she gazed far into the East she saw rising a bright golden light, the cloak of a powerful and wise warrior. As he stood over the land he looked up and saw her standing in the distance. They were in love and drew closer together, but just as they got closer another song was heard in the heavens, the song of the Great Kahn. The majick was so great that the three became ever entwined and the maiden and the warrior gave birth to the Great Kahn who walked with the people and sang into existence the rest of the world. This was the birth of the Moon, the Sun, and the people.
True majick is an act of love. High majick is the act of creation. When we love each other we can create and worlds are born. The stories of the past and the myth created from many years of telling these stories are our history. Look into the eyes of your spouse. The feelings you feel, the joy you see, and the words you share are all acts of creation. This is the majick.
Many years ago telling a good story was the way news and information passed from one person to the next, from one community to the next, even neighboring countries. Spinning a good yarn became an art form that today is passing away into obscurity because the children of the world are not interested in remembering where they came from or who they are. The sad truth about society is that the more educated it’s people the less likely those people are to sit and listen to the stories of the past.
The tribal elders of the past knew that the youth would eventually loose interest in the art of the story and began coming up with ways of catching the interest of the listener. Hence was born the art of the lie. This is not a lie to cover up or hide the truth, but a lie that wraps the truth in metaphor, the birth of the parable.
I was raised by a family of storytellers. Being half Irish, half American Indian I am all story and metaphor, a bundle of ancestral history passed orally through the ages. Here is a small lie that I will share for you to enjoy and hopefully help you create your own stories through example.
Anpetu the great chief of the sun had a son that he named Anpao. As Anpao grew into adulthood his father would tell him stories of the dangers in the land of the sun. He would warn him that the Gnasty’s living there would keep his soul. Anpao was in love, he loved a maiden of the sky, a daughter of Skan Skan the chief of the blue teepee. Anpao approached Skan Skan about marrying his daughter, but Skan Skan wanted many horses for his daughters betrothal. Anpao went to collect horses for his dowry.
Skan Skan was happy that Anpao asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage and Anpetu shone greatly to the blue teepee with pride, but the Gnasty’s of the sun were jealous and sent the monster Uhnk to kidnap the young bride. Uhnk took the girl to the heart of the sun where he thought no warrior could find her, but he did not know the heart of Anpao.
Anpao traveled to the sun to free his love from the Gnasty’s there and win her hand with his bravery. This battle is still fought today and that is why once every twenty-four hours the skies grow dark and the world lays quiet, because Anpao is doing battle with the monsters of the sun.
This is a parable as taught me by my grandmother when I was a tad pole. I have changed it and molded it and like any good Irish/Indian lie it entertains the listener. Good luck with your stories.
The time we spend with our families, adopted or natural, are the most important times we will ever spend. I’ve recently been re-taught a lesson that I missed as a youth, the importance of family. When I was young my personal family life was one that was smited with downfall, miscommunication, fear, and broken hearts. Mine was a family that suffered the ills of the times, we were a dysfunctional unit that would have died if ever sent to battle.
My present family, that of my wife and her kin, have taught me the truth about closeness even in a day and age as we live in now. Today my wife and her sister spent the day with their stepfather in a hospital waiting room as their mother was going through a gall bladder procedure. I came into the hospital after work to find that the surgery had been postponed due to unforeseen problems to a later time in the day.
They had brought my mother in law to the hospital at the wee hours of the morning in hopes that she would be the first one in for surgery. That is not what happened; instead they waited for a good ten hours before the doctor could perform the act while her blood work stabilized. He finely did the surgery almost exactly twelve hours after she arrived in the morning. The sisters and her husband waited the whole day through for the work to be done.
I’m a person who listens and watches, what I heard while waiting my short time with them were stories of the past, family gossip that is meant to bond the family not harm, and words of warmth and affection. I saw familial love and heard the truth of closeness within everything said between them and I.
My wife’s mother in her illness brought the family unit together in a moment of truth. I am still humbled by this family that has become mine. They still teach me what the true meaning of a family is and I am proud to stand with such beautiful people.
I thank my wife, Romona for bringing me into this fold.
I would like to take a moment and write about this blog. Although I put the pen to paper, and type the words that get read, I am not the one responsible for the visual artistic expression involved. That gracious gift comes from the woman that occupies my every thought. Her name is the name of a Spanish flower. Her eye is one that sees greatness in all things. She is a true artist and very soon we will be seeing her very own artwork on this blog. We will simply call her Romona.
Romona is the one that finds the photos, she is the one that checks the colors and balances them with the words I find floating on the ether. She gives my words the look that conveys the message to you the reader.
To my Spanish flower I write these thanks, my gratitude in all things, it is to you I send the blessings of the ages, thank you my Romona.
Have you ever run into someone that you thought was dead? Have you ever been watching the news or listening to a radio station and heard or saw an individual you thought had passed into the next life? These days the strangest things have been happening. I can swear people I thought were gone for good, or had passed a few years back have returned to walk again.
I can imagine that some of the folks I knew back in the day have the impression that I am gone into the afterlife. I ran into a fellow a few weeks back that looked at me with wide eyes and said, “Hey, I thought you were dead?” His astonishment was reflected in his voice and his reaction. I casually shrugged it off saying that I’ve been around just not out in the open.
I was watching my magic TV when upon the screen appeared the visage of a prominent political character. I watched and listened to the voice and message for a few moments when this odd feeling came over me with a sense of confusion. The person I was watching, in my memory, had died a year before in an accident on the Potomac River in Virginia. The surrealism of the event slowly passed and my feeling normalized. The people around me hadn’t noticed anything amiss, only a close friend who called me later in the day saying, “Hey, I thought he was dead?”
To this I replied the old Chinese curse, “May we live in interesting times.”
So, pay attention to the news, listen carefully to the words spoken to you, and look carefully in the eyes of those you meet. You never know who you might see on the TV or run into at your local shopping mall. These are interesting times.
Mankind has gone through many growth spurts in a very short period of time relatively speaking. In less than the past one hundred years he has taken to the air, broken the sound barrier, and gone to the moon. Man has gone from the abacus, through the calculator, to the modern computer. He has gone from walking 20 miles in a day or two to driving it in less than thirty minutes. Man has developed technologies that have stretched the fireworks of the past to the nuclear bombs that threaten us all. As Oppenheimer once said, “I have become Sheva the destroyer of worlds.”
I remember when I was young there was no such thing as the cassette tape. A friend of mine brought me to his house because he wanted to show me the coolest invention to come down the pike since buttered bread, the cassette. It didn’t get scratched like records did, the sound quality at that time was next to incredible, and it wasn’t as big a pain in the butt as a reel to reel was to change the tape. Cassette tapes were eventually replaced by cd’s in the eighties. Isn’t that special?
I can’t forget the dubious flirtation we had with the eight-track tape. I had a built in eight track in a 1968 Chevy Impala Super Sort I drove as a kid, and I had a deck in my room, but the dang things would bind, the machine would eat the tape, and you couldn’t conveniently search for your favorite tune you had to listen to the whole tape, all four god forsaken tracks of it to get to your tune of choice and by the time you get to it your not in the mood to listen to it anyways. So, I avoid mentioning eight-track tapes as much as possible.
I remember when I was smallish, my dad used to bring my little sister and me to his place of work, the high school, he was an English teacher and would let us watch movies in his office like, “Jason And The Argonauts.” This was one of the coolest movies of all time, according to my kidness. It was on one of those old projectors with the reels that you had to change at certain points in the movie, unless you’re into watching white screen and listening to the flapping of the reel. Then one day appeared this magic box with a large door atop it for this big cassette-looking thing. This was the predecessor to the VHS tape machine, and was allot bigger than a VCR. I remember purchasing a VCR later in the eighties, the damn thing was expensive, but I just had to have one. Today I’ve gone from playing DVD’s to playing Blue ray discs on my real cool Panasonic 5.1 surround sound home entertainment system, even cooler.
TV sets have changed mega amounts. The old TV I had when I was young was a black and white Sears and Roebuck model that had one station that played two things, the news and the news. I guess that’s all we rated back then. Today we have this ultra thin device, about an inch thick or less that is 52 inches diagonal and plays a High Definition picture that looks just a tad better than reality. I can understand why we escape into fantasy so easily. Mankind is evolving.
Cooking has changed. My mom would cook everything on the stovetop or in the oven. It took some preparation and forethought and was a reason for the family to sit and have a discussion at least two or three time a week at the dinner table. Then this other thing hit the market, you could throw a cup of water into it and in less than a minute you had a good hot cup of tea. I have one in my kitchen and I’m ashamed to admit I use it more than the stove I have. However, I still cook it old school and enjoy a good meal with Mona at least three times a week. Our kids are all gone out of the house now, but we still treat each other to one of the finest delights known to man, a home cooked meal.
Our cars have become smaller and more fuel efficient, the planes bigger and carry more people, the trains smoother and much faster, and I’ve even heard that there are plans for the regular folks to ride a space shuttle just for giggles. So, Our Modern World is one of ever changing things, an elastic model of man’s history and his evolution into the future, and possibly of man’s own devotion to man and his need to learn.
Duct tape is an interesting substance. It holds pipe together in a variety of ways, and for a variety of reasons. Duct tape has been referred to as the universal fixit, the handy mans ultimate helper, and a gift from the techno gods. The right man with a roll of duct tape in his hands can create miracles. I’m remembering a program on PBS called, “The Red Green Show,” about a master duct tape user and his idiot nephew. Some of us here in the North Country consider that program an instructional video series.
These days however, I have been thinking of an alternate use of the magical tape, behavior modification. Now I know what your thinking, “how cruel, how terrible, how could anyone do such a thing?” But, I must say that in some certain situation that I have been involved, and yes I am a behavior specialist, duct tape sounded like the most reasonable option. As a matter of fact a friend of mine many years ago was having daily trouble with his teenage son. After about eighteen months of continual verbal harassment that was becoming physical, not going to school, and eventually the child’s not coming home at night my friend after consulting with the police dept. in his home town, duct taped his son to the foot of his own bed and left him there for a period of no less than twelve hours. Cruel you say, inhumane you think, the father going over the deep end you conjecture, no I say. The fact is that this unruly child, this violent young man, this potential social statistic, never again said a cruel remark, made a physical gesture, or stayed out later than his curfew. He in fact began treating his father with the utmost respect and humility and today is a very successful social worker. Dad was now the hero.
So I have been thinking of duct tape. I take one out, roll it around and think of the possibilities. Then I put it away again to resort to my normal behavioral techniques, but that possibility is always on my mind, just think of it.
I ran into an old student of mine who reminded me of a story I told him when he was a young lad learning the ancient art of “moving out of the way” at my Dojo here in Berlin. I remember saying something like, “It’s always better not to be there when the punch comes.” Here’s the story.
When I was young there was this fella that really didn’t like me much. He would torment me at any turn making threats and comments that led me to believe that he had some sort of social disorder. I tried to avoid this angry creature at all times, unfortunately I would run into him at the most inconvenient moments. Usually when there where girls within earshot. I was sort of a dorky kid and caught the brunt of his evilness.
What this fella and other’s didn’t know was that I started practicing my family style of martial arts when I was about five years old, however in order to keep me out of trouble my dad would tell me things like, “It’s impossible for a person to defend themselves effectively for nine years after training” or, and this is my favorite, “You have to learn the secrets first.” What those secrets where or are I’m still not sure, and that was over forty years ago. Maybe I’ll figure them out someday.
On a real nice day in the spring during school the evildoer was doing his threaten John act. I don’t know what came over me, but instead of ignoring him I started tormenting him back. At first this sort of caught the nasty kid off guard and he got quiet for a short, and I mean very short, period of time. Then he continued to make his usually threats to my future man hood etc. Then it happened, the sarcasm. I’m not sure when or where I learned such a skill, but the things that came out of me aimed at him where akin to nails scratching across a chalkboard. He got real red in the face and ran away. I shrugged and walked back to the classroom.
After school I started walking home on my usual path. I had the habit of singing to myself on the way home and usually didn’t hear a sound other than my own voice. This day however I was walking quietly listening to the sounds of the birds and other things on the way home. I really can’t explain why I was listening other than my dad said something to me about being snuck up on earlier in the morning that made me think of listening as I walked.
There was this path that went through the city park, a short cut to my house, so I decided to take it. I had the feeling I was being followed, but hey that’s what my dad said so I decided I was just paranoid. Half way through the park in a spot no one would see me I heard the unmistakable sound of running footsteps coming up behind me. Just before the sound over ran we I swayed out of the way of the running sound and rolled my left heal up and slapped down hard with my left palm. I struck the runner square behind the shoulder blades. He became airborne and hung there motionless for what seem like an eternity. Then he hit the ground hard, not just your ordinary hard, but hard enough that I could hear his body groan and sort of crunch. He climbed to his feet and stared at me with the look of anger. He began making his usual threats when I put a palm up to silence him. When he stopped talking I told him the secret I had been keeping for most of my life, that I have been practicing the ancient art of Move Out of The Way and would very likely kick his sorry ass If he didn’t stop his silliness. He just sort of stared at me, then walked away crying, he hit the ground really hard.
When I got home I told my dad what happened. My dad said, “I guess your nine years are up.” Must be because I could defend myself. Then my dad called his dad to make sure the not so evil kids was ok, he was and never spoke to me about my dorkiness again. He became a friend after that and I was his protector.
The ancient art of Moving Out of The Way will always prevail over the bullies in our lives, then and now.
As every person evolves in this life he/she goes through varying degrees of pain. Some have greater pain than others for a variety of reasons. There are those that have pain due to illness, others experience pain because of injury, yet a few experience pain due to a very serious chronic problem.
Pain as a whole is the malady of age. The older one gets the more aches and pains he/she suffers. This kind of pain is generally accepted as the generational norm. The older we get finds us waking each morning with new grunts and groans erupting from us often amusing others that are within ear shot. This kind of pain is easily dealt with using over the counter medications such as Tylenol or ibuprofen, or if you are a student of the old school, by ignoring it. This is the first stage in thinking through your pain.
There are those individuals for whom medications and ignorance alone aren’t enough and it is to these suffers I’m writing to.
Pain is the effect of a stimulus outside or inside the body that is having a negative impact upon it. When that pain reaches a certain threshold it will become intolerable and not be controlled by medications. Here is a technique I use myself that may or may not help the sufferer. It works in varying degrees depending on the amount of practice you put into it.
Instead of ignoring the pain you take a few moments and focus entirely on that pain. Breathing in the nose and out the mouth you relax as much as possible and mentally locate the exact spot or origin of the pain. Keep breathing as rhythmically as you can and focus your entire concentration on the pain in question. When you have it located and in your minds eye you concentrate on the pain thinking about it totally. During this whole process you’re breathing in the nose and out the mouth.
When you’ve become practiced at focusing on the pain in question by using your own will you can begin to manipulate the pain. I know you’re reading this and saying to yourself, “That ole John has lost his mind and doesn’t know what he’s saying,” but I am a sufferer of chronic pain myself and this technique works very well for me.
Through some practice you will be able to change the pain making it more tolerable and less chronic. Here’s the deal, this kind of pain never goes away completely. What your doing is training yourself to deal with the pain by being the one in control. That’s a big deal.
Add this technique to some minor meditation and personal prayer and you too may feel some relief from your chronic pain. Good luck with the practice and don’t give up.
Many years ago its was said that a good horse could save your life. If you’re lost a good horse always knows the way back to the barn. If your really tired a good horse can carry you when you snooze. If you’ve been snake bit a good horse can carry you to help and safety. A good horse can save your life.
When I was young I had a horse named Pacos. He was a black quarter horse with white across his chest and face. Pacos was a good horse. He was a good cow pony able to cut a steer quicker than prairie dog can slide down it’s hole, and powerful enough to pull things out of the mud if called upon to do it, once or twice.
Pacos had a small flaw though, he was neurotic, He was afraid of his own shadow. If the mood struck him just right Pacos would loose it at the sight of his own shadow. He would rear back on his hind legs spin about and high tail it back to the barn. It took along time to train that fear out of him. When he wasn’t running away from his shadow anymore he became jittery at sudden unusual sounds. Out on the plains the wind can sound all sorts of ways. He would whinny, toss his head and run back to the barn. It took longer to train that out of him than the first time.
Pacos saved my life one day. We were out ranging the fence. That is we were checking the fence on the property and fixing the places that needed fixing. That usually took a couple days. Anyways, there we were riding the fence when I found a spot that needed a few nails and some tightening. When I jumped down off Pacos and started toward the fence I heard the unmistakable buzz of the rattle on our friend Mr. Rattle Snake. I didn’t see him only heard him, but Pacos reared, rising up on his hind legs and came down hard three or four times right next to me with his front hooves. When he stopped I noticed the buzzing had stopped, Pacos had stomped the snake to death with his front feet, he had saved me from being bit.
For all of his neuroses, Pacos was there when I needed him. He was a smart horse, a wise horse; yes Pacos was a good horse.
My grandfather told me once that there are no old evil wizards they only look that way. What he was telling me is that the practitioners of the black arts burn themselves out before they get the chance to live a full life. He died when he reached 111 years quietly in bed with a smile on his face next to my grandmother. She had a lucid moment and asked the nurse, “Is that Hoot?” The nurse answered the affirmative and my grandmother of over a hundred herself passed away with a smile on her face. They both had lived a full measure of life.
My grandparents were medicine keepers each from a different tribe that had found each other many years earlier when they were still young. My grandfather was a Choctaw and grandma was Kootenai Salish, a mixed marriage that worked out just fine.
Grandpa said to me that I’d be able to tell when something was amiss in my space if the temperature of the area suddenly dropped and I got the creeps unexpectedly. He was right on both accounts. Many years have passed since grandpa and grandma went to the happy hunting ground, but I remember the lessons well.
Recently In my own house I’ve had to do a cleansing that could have been described as a battle. Armed with my sage bowl, eagle, raven, and hawk feather fan that I put together with my own hands and blessed in a sweat lodge many times, walked through my space with my wife speaking sacred things and chanting sacred chants. This ceremony can be considered High Majick and is very powerful.
We encountered a black mass in the house that didn’t want to leave willingly. It was persuaded to go to it’s next reward with love, respect, and all the assistance we could muster. It no longer resides here. I know this sounds crazy, but if you ever feel someone is sending you a Gnasty, or bad wishes, remember to send them back with all the love and respect that they were given. Here’s a tool that works real well. “I’m sorry _____ I can not accept this gift from you I am not worthy, you must take it back with all the love and respect that it was given” Say this three times and be at peace. Mitakuye Oyatsin Hetchetu yelo. Ho.
I look back at things that have happened in the past and wonder how far back I need look to see the reflections of the future? It has been said that we can learn lessons for future generations by looking at the things of the past, the lessons we’ve learned or supposedly have learned on our travels to the now and into the distant tomorrows.
I’ve learned that through practice a person can effect the present through their actions and spoken words. A concentrated mind can effect the minds of others pushing them to do things that in turn affect their presents. In turn this will pass from one person to another and another until the present of all is affected. The danger here is the originator of the first thought. If this person is unstable, then the present will be unstable and from that point outward time will become unstable.
The present is the origin of time. From the now all things happen. We perceive all things in time from our nows, which is fluid and always moving. Like riding a wave the Lords of Time would surf or paddle from one moment to the next, from one time to the next, both back and forth until they are at the point intended from their original present. The neat thing here, we all have the same moment at the same time, we just experience it a little differently than anyone else making it our unique moments. Cool isn’t it?
We are each a Lord of Time, we are each the center of the universe, we are each the beginning and the ending of all that is, we are each and everyone of us, the Alpha and the Omega. Look into a mirror the next time your standing near one and gaze into your own eyes. Say to yourself with passion and hope, with love and devotion, and faith, “I Am.”
There is a belief afoot that the things we do in this life are pre-determined, that we have no choice on how things are going to work out and that we are part of a larger plan. Who determines our outcomes is the mystery. It may be a great giant playing chess on a cosmic board using us puny humans as the pieces on that board. Of course being cosmic chess there are many more pieces in play than just the standard 32.
Most of us would be the pawns; we would be the worker bees doing the lords bidding. The big giant playing the game would be our kind benefactor putting us in play at places on the board for our own higher purpose, our best interests. Sure that’s what we really believe. Knowing the world of competition like I do, I can see two large grinning giants sitting across from each other at the cosmic chess board occasionally fiddling with the pawns, occasionally staring into each other’s eyes anticipating the others moves hoping to intimidate with thoughts of this or that. We the poor pieces of the game are caught in the middle of the mental war of titans.
Chess was once called Shawmut, the death of the king, and was invented supposedly by an enlightened Persian King as a way to both train his generals and torture the captive foe in his prisons. He figured that his generals could think through the strategies and that the fallen could not fathom the complexities of the game.
Now we’re back to the destiny question, are we the generals or are we the fallen? Have we gone mad playing the game and forgotten that we aren’t actually the pieces at play, but rather the giants playing the game, or are we just playthings for the gods? I’ll give you an alternate idea; we are both the giant and the pawns. We are the generals and the fallen. We are the gods and demigods of the game. We just have this problem; in this reality our minds are incapable of remembering that we’re playing the game and being played at the same time. Go figure.
Let me tell you a story. This is the tale of a young boy that grew into a wise man who had accomplished one great thing during his lifetime.
The young boy would follow his family every morning, noon, and night to the temple atop the mountain behind the family house. This was a family of Brahmans and practiced their faith with great respect.
The boy would follow his Mother, his Father, his sisters, and his brothers all up the hill along the ritual path to the top. Atop the mountain, in the temple dedicated to the god Brahma, they would lay offerings of abundance, prayer, and faith. The offerings would range from pieces of gold to food, and often-simple stones found on the sacred path up the hill.
The boy would follow and watch as he grew. Asking to lay an offering himself, he always seemed to young to participate in the ritual, so he would observe and watch every detail memorizing the words the movements and the tones so he would never forget them.
When the boy reached his ninth year he followed his family up the sacred path to the temple. This day he felt a great desire to fulfill a dream. Halfway up the hill he stopped to gaze at a beautiful flower growing out of a fallen branch lying next to the path. He had a great idea, taking up the flower on that branch he followed close behind his brothers. Holding the flower and the branch he observed the morning ritual and had a great longing. When the ritual was complete and his family began walking back down the path, the boy approached the temple and laid the branch upon the pile of offerings that had been gathering throughout the years. He bowed reverently to the temple and said quietly, “thank you.”
As the boy grew into a young man each day he would travel and lay his own offering upon the temple. In that place were he laid the flower on the branch was growing a great tree. As the boy grew so did the tree. With each year that passed the boy grew into a great strong man, and the tree into a great strong golden willow.
Eventually the passage of time took the young man’s Father and Mother, and his older siblings. He began walking the path alone to visit the temple that was now a great tree.
Early one evening the young man approached the tree and began to pray when he noticed a golden serpent within the branches of the tree. He approached the serpent and gazed at it in wonder. He heard a great voice from within the snake tell him that he was meant for great things, that the world would now change because of that very first gift that he had given to the temple that became the great golden tree. As the serpent spoke it grew closer to the young man and wrapped itself around his neck and shoulders. There was a great thunderclap and the snake was gone. The man had changed; he was surrounded by a golden glow and spoke with the great voice of the golden serpent within the branches of the tree. He had become one with the serpent and the tree.
The man stayed there at the tree, and from that day forward people came to him for his teachings, his enlightenment, and his blessing. The man had become Pantanjali, the son of the Great Brahma. He had become the Kundalini of mankind.
By a wicked twist of fate my household is passing around a viral nasty. We’ll call this infectious beast the Avian Flu. That isn’t necessarily the true nature of the beast, but it fits the description. Avian Flu is a sneaky bastard, it waits until your over tired and the bodily immune functions are low. Then it sends out a recon unit to check out your defenses. After all the intelligence is gathered the regular Avian troops are sent in when your sleeping at night giving you the sudden urge to get out of bed to relieve yourself. This is when you notice the strange pallor of the face, the wheezing and coughing, followed directly by the evacuation of certain smelly substances from either ends.
Avian Flu is the ninja of the sickness world. It sneaks up and throttles you with a heavy stick until it thinks your dead then it goes away leaving you mortally wounded looking for your mommy. I had a stand in as my mommy has been gone these many years. My Momo is the care taker and the chaser away of the hoard of evil illness. My Momo is a super human being that caries with her the secrets of the ages and the magic elixir that is hidden within a special tea who’s secrets are so clandestine that if one should find them they would most assuredly be killed on the spot. My Momo is the current holder of these secrets and I am so very grateful as she has cured, me for the most part, and given me orders to stay another day in bed. I shall have to repay her kindnesses at a later date.
The Avian Flu, not quite the name of the evil illness, but it sounds much better than blaming a poor bacon.
The tiger represents strength and tenacity. The Shaolin of Hunan studied the animals of the forest and created fantastic forms of movement called Lohan. Bodidharma in a cave north of the Shaolin monastery created the original 18 Lohans, but that is another story.
Strength and tenacity are two complimentary disciplines. Strength is a physical presence, the physical prowess of the animal, the tiger stalking it’s prey then attacking feeding on the flesh, nourishing itself of the prey’s own strength. The fighter uses physicality to overwhelm that of the opponent. Strength is also the act of a focused mind, the ability to look through a scenario or problem and see the solution at the end of that problem without giving up on the solution.
Tenacity is the act of persistence. A tiger does not give up. When it hunts and has it’s prey in focus the tiger goes for the objective until it has finished the task. A fighter that emulates the tiger has the opponent in his focus and keeps fighting until the opponent can no longer fight. This tenacious nature is also an emotional/mental state of mind. A person with a tenacious nature never gives up. He/she might have a goal or objective that has a certain outcome with steps that need to be taken to get there. A tenacious person does not give up on that goal, he/she works on the steps to get there without giving up, even when the path is rocky. A tenacious warrior is one that trains diligently and never looses track of the goal or the path before them, this is the warrior’s path.
The tiger stands for strength and tenacity, he never gives up on the goal at hand and never forgets what he is, a tiger.
You are what you eat. A popular chant ranted from the wings for many years. Scientifically the stuff you eat forms the body you use. The calories taken in are used to created the energy that the body uses for it’s mobility. We eat wonderful carbohydrates and powerful proteins mixed with vitamins and minerals from plants, dead animals, and earth to formulate our own wonderfully powerful existences.
Our outward look bends and melds to the amount taken in and the number of said wonderment we ingest. A little is often not enough and the body looks like a rail. Allot is to much and the body looks like the Good Year Blimp. As I have stated before, moderation in all things is good. We each have a perfect medium that will sustain us and keep up healthy and happy.
Back to the “You are what you eat” idea, I have a theory; if you eat enough MacDonald’s burgers you’ll end up looking like the Hamburgler and have a shortened life span. If you eat to many carrots you’ll end up growing long ears and look like Bugs Bunny. If you accidentally ingest too much of a petroleum product you’ll end up looking like an Etsell. Moderation in all things will keep you looking like a happy and healthy human type of being.
Here’s my idea of a good healthy diet. Eat everything you enjoy in moderation, and Eat less exercise more if you want to get into shape. The rest will just sort of fall into place, enjoy.
A few thousand years ago General Sun Tzu of The Imperial Armies, was given the task of training some new recruits. Because there were no trainees in this district of the appropriate age and gender Sun Tzu was forced to draft young women of the province. The story goes that he found himself 100 new recruits, however this province was of Manchu and these women new nothing of hard work.
Sun Tzu had his commanders take charge of the girls and line them up into formation; as was, and still is the practice of the first day of military training. As with any organized unit made up of young people there were those recruits that did not make the “grade” causing mayhem and discontent within the ranks. Military discontent and mayhem way back in the time of Sun Tzu was a way to get the recruits involved, axed.
Now, it is important to understand that these young ladies where being forced to serve, they had no training, and because of their economic status weren’t accustomed to hard work. General Sun Tzu’s solution to the problematic children was to choose 10 of the girls that were not toeing the line and stand them in file front of the 90 other recruits. He asked them once more to stand at attention and be quite, they did not, the General then had one of his cavalry men ride quickly behind the 10 beheading them on the spot.
We, the rational minds of the 21’st century, would stand aghast at such an act, but this was not the 21’st century and General Sun Tzu was fighting a war that was threatening to eliminate his emperor’s armies, so our aghast thoughts don’t count. The task was done. The rest of the ladies fell into line and from that day forward became one of the meanest, most well trained groups of assassins ever known, the Dragon Ladies of Manchu.
General Sun Tzu later became known for his writings on “The Art of War,” an enlightened man.
Strength is a term that is usually used to describe the physicality of young men. It is a word that gives an alternate name to the ego. “Look over there, young Jim can carry a house on his back and still walk a straight line.” Praise and pride come from strength in the voices of fathers, mothers, and siblings.
Strength has held a mythical status since the times of Sampson and Lancelot. Both men were presumed the strongest in the world of their generations and both fell to the pressures of ego. Sampson lost his hair over Delilah and Lancelot lost his king over the frailties of a woman. Both egos were flexing in the midst of the times they lived in.
The strong men of the world each have their kryptonite, age. When age creeps up on us we loose certain attributes. We can’t jump over tall buildings in single bounds anymore; it usually takes a couple hops, we don’t see as clearly as we once did, it takes a little more to gaze through walls, and our flying ability doesn’t amaze the masses as it once did, we are growing older.
When strength loosens it’s grip on us we can see wisdom creeping in. In the eyes of the once strong there is hidden the message of the sages, the lessons of strength. Lives once lived from Knight to King, now are lived from Wizard to Sage, we have become the teachers of our children.
I’ve walked a path that was often inglorious and messy. It has been filled with wonder and delight, but also filled with things that go bump in the night. I’ve seen things with my eyes that lead me to believe in unbelievable things, the mystery of the universe is revealed when our fears sing.
I’ve turned my back on a sunset only to face the rising sun, and have wondered why I hear people crying, why they're on the run. Running from fears, self-imposed guilt, mankind is waking and making new light.
As a whole there is a change happening deep within us all. Some agree, some do not, but it all has its toll. A coin is passed to the driver of a boat, set across a hidden river life and death’s old moat.
A crew of billions traveling the stars, looking to the future way past Mars, letting go of pain, leaving behind all fear, let’s embrace our demons and angels will appear.
Letting go can be hard, letting go can be easy, but what you let go of determines who you are.
When I was young I had dreams of owning a flying car. Being a fan of George Jetson and his clan I grew to anticipate that by the turn of the twenty first century we would all be flying high in our very own aerial vehicles. That dream was squished dead after I realized in my adulthood that the petroleum companies are the new gods and we have absolutely no chance of owning a flying car until the standard fuel usage has changed to a more environmentally friendly standard, which won’t happen until we run out of oil, or kill the oil companies dead.
The promise broken and no flying car available, I am preparing for the next decade of the twenty first century with a little more caution. Having managed to survive thus far into this new “depression” watching many banks die and many more homes be boarded up, I am wondering just how far we the people can be pushed before the bottle explodes and the genie escapes to threaten those in power. I fear that time because he is a genie of chaos and anarchy and down that road lays madness.
So the year is now 2010 by our popular calendar and we the people of the earth still wait for our flying cars. I want mine in tangerine orange with flaming pinstripes.