Sunday, May 30, 2004
Beside Victoria
by Trendle Ellwood
The other homesteaders at the farm market have all welcomed us with open arms. We already feel love towards several of the people there. They have won us over with their charming ways. So the day that Victoria came I was startled! There I was basking in the sunshine when suddenly I felt this cold chill to my back and I turn around and there is Victoria glaring, with her hands on her hips. Her stall next to ours had been empty. I had looked forward to meeting her because some of the homesteaders had been referring to her as, ”That Crazy Lady”.
“Crazy lady, you should get along with her real well,” Little one told me one day, with her lopsided grin. I grinned back at her and waved my eyes as she giggled. But Little One was not giggling now, because Victoria was telling us that our table was out too far out and that the tables had to be behind this line. I was like, well Ok Victoria, but we could have said Hello first! We apologized to her and told her that we didn’t realize and my, wasn’t it a beautiful day for market! But Victoria just shook her head and got busy unloading her stuff, and we had to unload ours too so Little One and I shrugged our shoulders at each other and got to work.
We had our usual Saturday morning chat with Farmer Bob on our other side and hollered our usual hellos to those around us. The farm market manager came by in his yellow shirt and we had our jokes with the easy to get along with man. He went by Victoria’s stall and gave her a hearty hello but she only kept her head down and would not respond. He looked back at us with the exaggerated wondering face and went on. Then the customers kept us busy for a while. I would look over from time to time towards Victoria with smiles and admiration for her healthy crop of tomatoes.
Little One had been beckoned by the Coffee Café lady,Mary, a beautiful soul on down the row. She wanted Little One to get the children drawing with chalk on the pavement. Soon, Little One had a beautiful artistic rendering going on, drawing what each homesteader was selling, in front of their booths. That was until they came to Victoria’s booth, then she told them not to draw anything in front of her booth. Little One was put out by her, so I told her that we had to be understanding, and to just do as she was asked, not to draw in front of Victoria’s, but to keep on having fun.
Soon there was a lull in the activity and suddenly Victoria was in our stall and she was telling Little One and I that she could not believe that they put two booths selling the same things right beside each other. Trying to grasp at what she meant, I listened as she told me that she was going to sell flowers too and we were both selling flowers. She wanted us to ask if we could be placed in some other spot at the market, I was like, what! Farmer Bob sells honey and we are right beside him, it doesn’t matter. Nobody thinks it matters, we all get customers; there is enough to go around. I tried to tell Victoria this and so did Farmer Bill and Hubby, as she continued to worry about it throughout the day.
At one point she asked Little One if her Mama was going to sell cut Zinnias, because she was going to have them for sale. I told Victoria that it would be Ok, our flowers would compliment each other, and all our flowers would draw in more flower customers. So then she wanted to know how much we were going to ask for them because she was going to charge 4/1.00. This is when hubby tried to lighten her up and he told her, “Ah! Well then we will just wait until you sell all of yours, then we will sell ours. Victoria returned with, “Well! Then you will charge more and make more then me!” This was the moment that I decided, my goodness the poor thing!
So for the rest of the week Little One talked about Victoria to us, and how mean she thought she was. We tried to explain to her that she probably could not help herself. I got to thinking about Victoria and that maybe she was next to me at the farm market for a reason; perhaps we had more in common than just the flowers. Victoria is scared, Victoria has fears, and so do I. It is wild for me to see that one of the things that Victoria is afraid of is me! Through Victoria I can so plainly see how our fears create our realities. The other homesteaders and us would be her friends if she were not too scared of us to let us.
Victoria skipped a week and I wondered if maybe she had given up, but this Saturday she was back. She pulled in, the back of her pickup truck full of purple petunias and lettuce. Her petunias were really pretty, and you know I like purple and I told her so. But I could not help but wonder, why she would have planted all her seeds the same color. Yes, every basket of wave petunias was the same dark shade of purple, no variation or contrast.
Victoria did not attack us with any concerns this week. Her husband was with her, and he seemed kind of normal. But still she would not respond to the Market Manager when he came by and I would some times catch her glaring at me. I didn’t like the cold draft that was coming my way from her side of our stall. So I decided to pull out this old conjurers trick , be nice! I just went right over and admired Victoria’s purple petunias and I admired the style of pot that she had used to plant them in. And guess what! Victoria said that my flowers were pretty too! I thanked her, and told her that I sold them on Wednesday but today I had not sold a one.
A little later Victoria came over with some marketing advice for me, she said that it would be good to put the price of the bouquets out front, real plain where people could see it. So I did what she advised and I was sure to thank her for her good advice when I sold one! Perhaps I will win Victoria over, I have a feeling some days will be different from others. But all in all, perhaps we can find some balance. There was one moment when I glanced over at Victoria and I saw Merlin standing there. He was with Victoria too. I saw in that one instant that we were of the same soul family. And the Merlin in Victoria was telling the Merlin in me, that the woman might be a bit crazy but that she also contained magic, like we all do.
Copyright © 2004, by Trendle Ellwood. All Rights Reserved.
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The other homesteaders at the farm market have all welcomed us with open arms. We already feel love towards several of the people there. They have won us over with their charming ways. So the day that Victoria came I was startled! There I was basking in the sunshine when suddenly I felt this cold chill to my back and I turn around and there is Victoria glaring, with her hands on her hips. Her stall next to ours had been empty. I had looked forward to meeting her because some of the homesteaders had been referring to her as, ”That Crazy Lady”.
“Crazy lady, you should get along with her real well,” Little one told me one day, with her lopsided grin. I grinned back at her and waved my eyes as she giggled. But Little One was not giggling now, because Victoria was telling us that our table was out too far out and that the tables had to be behind this line. I was like, well Ok Victoria, but we could have said Hello first! We apologized to her and told her that we didn’t realize and my, wasn’t it a beautiful day for market! But Victoria just shook her head and got busy unloading her stuff, and we had to unload ours too so Little One and I shrugged our shoulders at each other and got to work.
We had our usual Saturday morning chat with Farmer Bob on our other side and hollered our usual hellos to those around us. The farm market manager came by in his yellow shirt and we had our jokes with the easy to get along with man. He went by Victoria’s stall and gave her a hearty hello but she only kept her head down and would not respond. He looked back at us with the exaggerated wondering face and went on. Then the customers kept us busy for a while. I would look over from time to time towards Victoria with smiles and admiration for her healthy crop of tomatoes.
Little One had been beckoned by the Coffee Café lady,Mary, a beautiful soul on down the row. She wanted Little One to get the children drawing with chalk on the pavement. Soon, Little One had a beautiful artistic rendering going on, drawing what each homesteader was selling, in front of their booths. That was until they came to Victoria’s booth, then she told them not to draw anything in front of her booth. Little One was put out by her, so I told her that we had to be understanding, and to just do as she was asked, not to draw in front of Victoria’s, but to keep on having fun.
Soon there was a lull in the activity and suddenly Victoria was in our stall and she was telling Little One and I that she could not believe that they put two booths selling the same things right beside each other. Trying to grasp at what she meant, I listened as she told me that she was going to sell flowers too and we were both selling flowers. She wanted us to ask if we could be placed in some other spot at the market, I was like, what! Farmer Bob sells honey and we are right beside him, it doesn’t matter. Nobody thinks it matters, we all get customers; there is enough to go around. I tried to tell Victoria this and so did Farmer Bill and Hubby, as she continued to worry about it throughout the day.
At one point she asked Little One if her Mama was going to sell cut Zinnias, because she was going to have them for sale. I told Victoria that it would be Ok, our flowers would compliment each other, and all our flowers would draw in more flower customers. So then she wanted to know how much we were going to ask for them because she was going to charge 4/1.00. This is when hubby tried to lighten her up and he told her, “Ah! Well then we will just wait until you sell all of yours, then we will sell ours. Victoria returned with, “Well! Then you will charge more and make more then me!” This was the moment that I decided, my goodness the poor thing!
So for the rest of the week Little One talked about Victoria to us, and how mean she thought she was. We tried to explain to her that she probably could not help herself. I got to thinking about Victoria and that maybe she was next to me at the farm market for a reason; perhaps we had more in common than just the flowers. Victoria is scared, Victoria has fears, and so do I. It is wild for me to see that one of the things that Victoria is afraid of is me! Through Victoria I can so plainly see how our fears create our realities. The other homesteaders and us would be her friends if she were not too scared of us to let us.
Victoria skipped a week and I wondered if maybe she had given up, but this Saturday she was back. She pulled in, the back of her pickup truck full of purple petunias and lettuce. Her petunias were really pretty, and you know I like purple and I told her so. But I could not help but wonder, why she would have planted all her seeds the same color. Yes, every basket of wave petunias was the same dark shade of purple, no variation or contrast.
Victoria did not attack us with any concerns this week. Her husband was with her, and he seemed kind of normal. But still she would not respond to the Market Manager when he came by and I would some times catch her glaring at me. I didn’t like the cold draft that was coming my way from her side of our stall. So I decided to pull out this old conjurers trick , be nice! I just went right over and admired Victoria’s purple petunias and I admired the style of pot that she had used to plant them in. And guess what! Victoria said that my flowers were pretty too! I thanked her, and told her that I sold them on Wednesday but today I had not sold a one.
A little later Victoria came over with some marketing advice for me, she said that it would be good to put the price of the bouquets out front, real plain where people could see it. So I did what she advised and I was sure to thank her for her good advice when I sold one! Perhaps I will win Victoria over, I have a feeling some days will be different from others. But all in all, perhaps we can find some balance. There was one moment when I glanced over at Victoria and I saw Merlin standing there. He was with Victoria too. I saw in that one instant that we were of the same soul family. And the Merlin in Victoria was telling the Merlin in me, that the woman might be a bit crazy but that she also contained magic, like we all do.
Copyright © 2004, by Trendle Ellwood. All Rights Reserved.
Thursday, May 27, 2004
Gray Hair
by White Feather
Copyright © 2004, by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. Books by White Feather
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We all know that physical puberty occurs usually during one's teens. Spiritual puberty, however, usually doesn't happen until one is in their late thirties and early forties--right about the time the first gray hairs start appearing. This is followed by spiritual adolescence and culminates in spiritual adulthood--usually in one's fifties or sixties.
In times long, long ago, back when we had lifespans of hundreds of years, we really weren't considered fully mature until we were close to 60 years old. At this time our hair was fully gray--which in those days was a sign a maturity. If you lived to 600 years and your hair furned completely gray by age 60, then your hair would be gray for 90% of your life. You would consider it your normal color and any color it may have been before it turned gray would be considered a sign of youth, just like baby whooping cranes are born brownish-orange but turn white when they mature into adults.
But then we stepped deeply into a denser vibration and to our horror we realized that our lifespans were cut way down in size. Now, just as we were fully maturing and our hair was turning gray, instead of beginning a long life as a mature adult, we were suddenly faced with something completely new: something called aging. In the olden days, the way you looked when you were 60 was basically the way you looked for the rest of your life, meaning hundreds of years. Aging didn't happen. Getting gray hair wasn't about aging way back then, it was about maturing. Now, though, it became a signal of aging instead. Once we start seeing the signs of aging--and gray hair has become such a sign for us--then we believe we don't have much time left, and therefore we don't.
Once we start seeing gray hair as a sign of maturity rather than a sign of aging then people will stop coloring their hair, and not only that, but it will take us a long way in overcoming this dis-ease called aging. Of course, it's pretty hard to change the beliefs held collectively in mass consciousness. All we can do is change our own beliefs and be an example.
In times long, long ago, back when we had lifespans of hundreds of years, we really weren't considered fully mature until we were close to 60 years old. At this time our hair was fully gray--which in those days was a sign a maturity. If you lived to 600 years and your hair furned completely gray by age 60, then your hair would be gray for 90% of your life. You would consider it your normal color and any color it may have been before it turned gray would be considered a sign of youth, just like baby whooping cranes are born brownish-orange but turn white when they mature into adults.
But then we stepped deeply into a denser vibration and to our horror we realized that our lifespans were cut way down in size. Now, just as we were fully maturing and our hair was turning gray, instead of beginning a long life as a mature adult, we were suddenly faced with something completely new: something called aging. In the olden days, the way you looked when you were 60 was basically the way you looked for the rest of your life, meaning hundreds of years. Aging didn't happen. Getting gray hair wasn't about aging way back then, it was about maturing. Now, though, it became a signal of aging instead. Once we start seeing the signs of aging--and gray hair has become such a sign for us--then we believe we don't have much time left, and therefore we don't.
Once we start seeing gray hair as a sign of maturity rather than a sign of aging then people will stop coloring their hair, and not only that, but it will take us a long way in overcoming this dis-ease called aging. Of course, it's pretty hard to change the beliefs held collectively in mass consciousness. All we can do is change our own beliefs and be an example.
Copyright © 2004, by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. Books by White Feather
Thursday, May 20, 2004
Soul Waves
by White Feather
Copyright © 2000-2004, by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. Books by White Feather
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Every year, Harley bikers from all over meet in Sturgis, South Dakota to convene their annual whoopjamborie. Graduated high school classes have reunions every five or ten years. Soldiers who fought together will reunite in their old age to reminisce and share what has happened since the war. Families everywhere have reunions. Large groups of people with common interest have this instinct to come together in reunions, and these reunions often become markers of time for that group. It is no different for the Asamee soul-group.
The last big whoopjamborie that the Asamee had was in the 1950's. Family reunions have age groups; there are the old folks, the middle-aged folks, the young adults, the teenagers, and the smaller kids. Soul groups are the same way. They form groups that reincarnate together so that they are in the same group together in the physical plane. The soul-group can carry on its work more smoothly if they reincarnate in these groups, so that the work can be passed down through the physical generations. It wouldn't make much sense for the soul-group to all incarnate at the same time and die all around the same time. It needs to be staggered. It works for families, so soul-groups use it, too. So soul-group subgroups incarnate in waves that are designed to fit into a pattern with the other soul-group subgroups.
The 1950's Asamee whoopjamborie brought together the entire soul-group in spirit. In the first half of the 1900's a subgroup of Asamee had progressed significantly in creating a framework for subsequent subgroups to carry on the Asamee work. This subgroup came in from 1875 to the 1890's, and they began dying in the 1940's and 1950's. The next oldest subgroup was in their forties in the 1950's. The dying subgroup turned everything over to the new subgroup in the 1950's. The new subgroup's duty was primarily to keep things going until the dying subgroup could be born again and mature enough to take on the work again. So to make the timing work right, a lot of Asamee needed to die in the late forties or early fifties so that they could be born again in the late Fifties/early Sixties, so that they would be in or near their forties around the turn of the millenium. There was another subgroup that were teenagers in the Fifties. Some of this group were the ones who gave birth to the new group being born in the late Fifties. The subgroup that took over things in the Fifties were planning to come back in a big wave in the 1980's, so most of them did their dying in the Seventies and early Eighties.
In their spiritual states, the Asamee knew about the upcoming shift in time virals and the accompanying shift in consciousness. They all wanted to be there for the great event, but they had to time their birth so that they could be a certain age or maturity level for the event. When the shift happens, there will be four main age subgroups; one around sixty and older (the ones that were teenagers in the Fifties, one in their forties to early fifties (the ones who were born in the late Fifties/early Sixties), one in their twenties (those born near the Harmonic Convergence), and one group of small children (who have been coming in in recent years).
Through the centuries, this chain of birthing has accomplished its goal of keeping a vibration going. It has allowed for a very slow and steady evolvement. This changed in the 1950's, though, and that is what the Fifties whoopjamborie was all about.
In their get-together, souls were reminded that a quickening of vibration would begin in the 1950's and accelerate from there right into the new time viral of the next century. Souls were reminded that the rate of evolvement would increase significantly and exponentially. This means that more issues would be dealt with in a lifetime than usual.
Picture this: You and your group are at an amusement park. Someone blows a whistle or something, and you all gather together for a little meeting. Someone reminds everyone that there is only so much time left before everyone left that amusement park for the next amusement park. It had been agreed upon by everyone that they would ride every ride in the park and then move on to the next park. Everyone is reminded of this at the little meeting so that they can search out those rides they had not ridden yet. Once everyone had ridden all the rides, then everyone would meet one more time for another little whoopjamborie before rushing into the gates of the next amusement park--which, rumor has it, has some really cool rides. Perhaps this helps to illustrate the nature of the 1950's Asamee whoopjamborie.
The 1950's Asamee whoopjamborie was held in spirit. Everyone attended, whether they were in the body of a one-year old baby, a 60 year old, or not even in a body. The Asamee have been holding whoopjambories for a long, long time, but this 1950's one was special, being the last one before we all changed amusement parks. It was also the last whoopjamborie to be held in spirit. The next one (around 2012), will be held in the flesh! By then, the spirit and the physical will be reunited in one dimension, and the whoopjamborie will be unlike any other. Twelve and a half thousand years of whoopjambories were all in preparation for this next one. It is what we are all looking forward to.
The last big whoopjamborie that the Asamee had was in the 1950's. Family reunions have age groups; there are the old folks, the middle-aged folks, the young adults, the teenagers, and the smaller kids. Soul groups are the same way. They form groups that reincarnate together so that they are in the same group together in the physical plane. The soul-group can carry on its work more smoothly if they reincarnate in these groups, so that the work can be passed down through the physical generations. It wouldn't make much sense for the soul-group to all incarnate at the same time and die all around the same time. It needs to be staggered. It works for families, so soul-groups use it, too. So soul-group subgroups incarnate in waves that are designed to fit into a pattern with the other soul-group subgroups.
The 1950's Asamee whoopjamborie brought together the entire soul-group in spirit. In the first half of the 1900's a subgroup of Asamee had progressed significantly in creating a framework for subsequent subgroups to carry on the Asamee work. This subgroup came in from 1875 to the 1890's, and they began dying in the 1940's and 1950's. The next oldest subgroup was in their forties in the 1950's. The dying subgroup turned everything over to the new subgroup in the 1950's. The new subgroup's duty was primarily to keep things going until the dying subgroup could be born again and mature enough to take on the work again. So to make the timing work right, a lot of Asamee needed to die in the late forties or early fifties so that they could be born again in the late Fifties/early Sixties, so that they would be in or near their forties around the turn of the millenium. There was another subgroup that were teenagers in the Fifties. Some of this group were the ones who gave birth to the new group being born in the late Fifties. The subgroup that took over things in the Fifties were planning to come back in a big wave in the 1980's, so most of them did their dying in the Seventies and early Eighties.
In their spiritual states, the Asamee knew about the upcoming shift in time virals and the accompanying shift in consciousness. They all wanted to be there for the great event, but they had to time their birth so that they could be a certain age or maturity level for the event. When the shift happens, there will be four main age subgroups; one around sixty and older (the ones that were teenagers in the Fifties, one in their forties to early fifties (the ones who were born in the late Fifties/early Sixties), one in their twenties (those born near the Harmonic Convergence), and one group of small children (who have been coming in in recent years).
Through the centuries, this chain of birthing has accomplished its goal of keeping a vibration going. It has allowed for a very slow and steady evolvement. This changed in the 1950's, though, and that is what the Fifties whoopjamborie was all about.
In their get-together, souls were reminded that a quickening of vibration would begin in the 1950's and accelerate from there right into the new time viral of the next century. Souls were reminded that the rate of evolvement would increase significantly and exponentially. This means that more issues would be dealt with in a lifetime than usual.
Picture this: You and your group are at an amusement park. Someone blows a whistle or something, and you all gather together for a little meeting. Someone reminds everyone that there is only so much time left before everyone left that amusement park for the next amusement park. It had been agreed upon by everyone that they would ride every ride in the park and then move on to the next park. Everyone is reminded of this at the little meeting so that they can search out those rides they had not ridden yet. Once everyone had ridden all the rides, then everyone would meet one more time for another little whoopjamborie before rushing into the gates of the next amusement park--which, rumor has it, has some really cool rides. Perhaps this helps to illustrate the nature of the 1950's Asamee whoopjamborie.
The 1950's Asamee whoopjamborie was held in spirit. Everyone attended, whether they were in the body of a one-year old baby, a 60 year old, or not even in a body. The Asamee have been holding whoopjambories for a long, long time, but this 1950's one was special, being the last one before we all changed amusement parks. It was also the last whoopjamborie to be held in spirit. The next one (around 2012), will be held in the flesh! By then, the spirit and the physical will be reunited in one dimension, and the whoopjamborie will be unlike any other. Twelve and a half thousand years of whoopjambories were all in preparation for this next one. It is what we are all looking forward to.
Copyright © 2000-2004, by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. Books by White Feather
Sunday, May 16, 2004
Exploring May
by Trendle Ellwood
Persia exploring nature as she touches her nose to a dandelion.
The Solomon’s seal is blooming with the Dame’s Rocket.
The Dames Rocket has traveled all about the yard so that we are in a purple oasis. I have been thinking that perhaps next year I will add some bright orange Poppies and some purple-red Peonies that would bloom along with them but for this year I will just rest in my almost all purple May garden.
Merlin came by one day and he was wearing blue. I asked him what this could mean; always I have seen him in tan or brown before. He told me that he was dressed up to celebrate the coming out of the garden. This made me smile, you see he knows how fond I am of that color of blue and that I cannot help but paint it all around. It looks so good with the purple now too. The “Coming Out” of my garden, isn’t he a grand friend to celebrate what I love so?
I made 100 nosegays of flowers one day, and as I lay down to sleep that night, the Lily of the Valley fairies surrounded me. I was afraid that they would be angry with me as I had picked 100 of them times three that day, as I wanted each mother to have their beautiful scent and I put three of their pretty faces in each nosegay. But instead the Lily of the Valley fairies held me in their presence and they carried me and they loved me and they told me that they were glad that they had been taken from the garden and thrilled that their gladness would be spread to the hearts of so many the next day.
I have a couple of new friends who have moved in. They like the crevices that I fixed up for them from some of Windy’s old hollow logs.
I planted Windy’s base full of flowers.
Take a look into the apiary. The hives in the middle are the new swarm hives. The ones on the edges are getting tall.
Guess what that means! Yes! Honey! The locust trees are blooming now, their little white sprays of blossoms, wave all up and down these Ohio hills and the bees are happy with this pollen , plenty of rain and the warm days.
I am glad that I let nature wander about my yard, because if I did not I would have missed how delightful the little yellow mustard weeds look as they frame this Iris which was named Thick and Creamy and reminds me of butter.
Copyright © 2004, by Trendle Ellwood. All Rights Reserved.
(0) comments
Persia exploring nature as she touches her nose to a dandelion.
The Solomon’s seal is blooming with the Dame’s Rocket.
The Dames Rocket has traveled all about the yard so that we are in a purple oasis. I have been thinking that perhaps next year I will add some bright orange Poppies and some purple-red Peonies that would bloom along with them but for this year I will just rest in my almost all purple May garden.
Merlin came by one day and he was wearing blue. I asked him what this could mean; always I have seen him in tan or brown before. He told me that he was dressed up to celebrate the coming out of the garden. This made me smile, you see he knows how fond I am of that color of blue and that I cannot help but paint it all around. It looks so good with the purple now too. The “Coming Out” of my garden, isn’t he a grand friend to celebrate what I love so?
I made 100 nosegays of flowers one day, and as I lay down to sleep that night, the Lily of the Valley fairies surrounded me. I was afraid that they would be angry with me as I had picked 100 of them times three that day, as I wanted each mother to have their beautiful scent and I put three of their pretty faces in each nosegay. But instead the Lily of the Valley fairies held me in their presence and they carried me and they loved me and they told me that they were glad that they had been taken from the garden and thrilled that their gladness would be spread to the hearts of so many the next day.
I have a couple of new friends who have moved in. They like the crevices that I fixed up for them from some of Windy’s old hollow logs.
I planted Windy’s base full of flowers.
Take a look into the apiary. The hives in the middle are the new swarm hives. The ones on the edges are getting tall.
Guess what that means! Yes! Honey! The locust trees are blooming now, their little white sprays of blossoms, wave all up and down these Ohio hills and the bees are happy with this pollen , plenty of rain and the warm days.
I am glad that I let nature wander about my yard, because if I did not I would have missed how delightful the little yellow mustard weeds look as they frame this Iris which was named Thick and Creamy and reminds me of butter.
Copyright © 2004, by Trendle Ellwood. All Rights Reserved.
Thursday, May 13, 2004
A Little Spider Story
by White Feather
Copyright © 2002-2004, by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. Books by White Feather
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We lived in a house once that had a brown recluse spider living in one of the window wells. It lived with us for 8 months until we moved. I refused to kill it. Killing spiders is bad mojo, I don't care how many females are screaming. Spiders have a communications network called The Web. It is much more efficient than the internet. You kill one spider and suddenly every spider on the planet knows about it and you are a murderer in the eyes of every spider from then on out. I swear, they know! Black widows have actually crawled on me without biting me. I swear, they really do know. They can tell your feelings towards them. So I bless every spider I ever see and I never ever kill them or hurt them in any way.
I had a long conversation with a spider once. I was sitting in the passenger seat of a pickup truck while I was waiting for the driver to return. Suddenly, a little spider came floating down from the ceiling of the truck's cab. It was hanging onto a silky thread. Just about 10 or 12 inches in front of my face, the spider stopped its downward descent and turned to look at me. It stopped all the movement of its many legs and said to me, "You're that guy I heard about on the Web, aren't you? You're the one who refuses to kill spiders!"
I cleared my throat and replied, "Well, yes I am."
"I am honored to meet you," replied the spider. "I have noticed that human men and human women have something in common." The spider fell silent, apparently waiting for a reply.
"Oh?" is all I could come up with.
"Well, yes. You both are scared to death of spiders!" The spider then laughed--although it is beyond me to describe a spider's laugh. (It sounds kind of like cellophane tearing off of rotten fruit, and it looks kind of like Dolly Parton riding a mechanical bull.)
Like a manic-depressive on a bungie chord, the spider bounced up and down as it laughed. Finally, it continued, "The difference between the human males and human females (besides which planet you're from) is in how you react to what you fear. The males react by killing us and the females react by screaming like banshees."
The bungee action intensified, but I came back with a quick one, "But there are females who kill spiders, and, lord knows, there are males who scream like banshees."
"Yes," replied the spider, "but we spiders can't see your purses and beards and breasts and fashion and attitudes and prejudices and phallic symbology and all those things that constitute "right" gender. We react to light, but we also react to feelings. The predominant feelings vibration that we get from humans is fear. Over the course of hundreds of thousands of years, we have determined that humans reacting in fear, react two ways: The kill or they scream like banshees. This we have decided is gender-related, and it is the only way we can tell what gender you are."
(I began wondering, ever so briefly, how one tells the gender of a spider.)
"But when a human comes to us and they are not in fear, then we can't tell what gender they are. It is such a rare occurence that we are usually at first confused. But then, from thousands of years of genetic memory, we remember that there is also the human feeling known as love. There have been enough humans over the course of time that have shown us spiders just enough love for that to be imprinted on our mass consciousness. It is always a joy to find humans like that. But dang it, when you guys are in the love vibration, we just can't tell what gender you are! So tell me, White Feather, just what gender are you?"
I was so utterly shocked, I didn't know what to say. For a minute there, I really didn't know what gender I was. I really didn't know. I actually considered opening my pants, just to make sure. But then Greg came walking out of the forest and back to the truck. He got in and started driving, continuing the long commute to work.
When I looked back at the spider, it was gone.
I had a long conversation with a spider once. I was sitting in the passenger seat of a pickup truck while I was waiting for the driver to return. Suddenly, a little spider came floating down from the ceiling of the truck's cab. It was hanging onto a silky thread. Just about 10 or 12 inches in front of my face, the spider stopped its downward descent and turned to look at me. It stopped all the movement of its many legs and said to me, "You're that guy I heard about on the Web, aren't you? You're the one who refuses to kill spiders!"
I cleared my throat and replied, "Well, yes I am."
"I am honored to meet you," replied the spider. "I have noticed that human men and human women have something in common." The spider fell silent, apparently waiting for a reply.
"Oh?" is all I could come up with.
"Well, yes. You both are scared to death of spiders!" The spider then laughed--although it is beyond me to describe a spider's laugh. (It sounds kind of like cellophane tearing off of rotten fruit, and it looks kind of like Dolly Parton riding a mechanical bull.)
Like a manic-depressive on a bungie chord, the spider bounced up and down as it laughed. Finally, it continued, "The difference between the human males and human females (besides which planet you're from) is in how you react to what you fear. The males react by killing us and the females react by screaming like banshees."
The bungee action intensified, but I came back with a quick one, "But there are females who kill spiders, and, lord knows, there are males who scream like banshees."
"Yes," replied the spider, "but we spiders can't see your purses and beards and breasts and fashion and attitudes and prejudices and phallic symbology and all those things that constitute "right" gender. We react to light, but we also react to feelings. The predominant feelings vibration that we get from humans is fear. Over the course of hundreds of thousands of years, we have determined that humans reacting in fear, react two ways: The kill or they scream like banshees. This we have decided is gender-related, and it is the only way we can tell what gender you are."
(I began wondering, ever so briefly, how one tells the gender of a spider.)
"But when a human comes to us and they are not in fear, then we can't tell what gender they are. It is such a rare occurence that we are usually at first confused. But then, from thousands of years of genetic memory, we remember that there is also the human feeling known as love. There have been enough humans over the course of time that have shown us spiders just enough love for that to be imprinted on our mass consciousness. It is always a joy to find humans like that. But dang it, when you guys are in the love vibration, we just can't tell what gender you are! So tell me, White Feather, just what gender are you?"
I was so utterly shocked, I didn't know what to say. For a minute there, I really didn't know what gender I was. I really didn't know. I actually considered opening my pants, just to make sure. But then Greg came walking out of the forest and back to the truck. He got in and started driving, continuing the long commute to work.
When I looked back at the spider, it was gone.
Copyright © 2002-2004, by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. Books by White Feather
Sunday, May 09, 2004
May Apples in May
by Trendle Ellwood
First it dawns on you, one day early in the month, hey it’s May! Then you walk past a May Apple patch and you wonder, are they blooming yet? So you quietly approach them and you get down low to the ground, even upon your very belly, where if you are lucky you will look up to see them smiling at you. White and yellow, steady and true every year in May.
My brother thought I was crazy when I carried some May Apple plants from the edge of the woods once and planted them in by the western side of my little pine grove. " What would you want to do that for?" he asked, "May Apples grow everywhere!"
Well perhaps he is right, they do. Perhaps I am crazy, but where else can I get down on my belly in the grass and get my head up under May Apples big glossy umbrella like leaves? Where else can I get my nose close enough to this darling flower that bears the name of May, so that I can inhale her scent? Sweet and lemony, fresh and green that is how May Apples smell. They smell like they are saying, "Yes! It really is spring for sure now! No more doubts!"
I have read in books that May Apples have a nauseous smell. Perhaps the writers caught the May Apple smell after the flower had been pollinated. Bees know that a flowers first scent is the beautiful one, the one that intoxicates her pollinator. Then the sweet scent fades as she begins to fruit. I reach out to touch their flower petals and they are thick and sort of rubbery feeling, not delicate little things like the Spring Beauties, but sturdy and sure.
You don't just walk by May Apples and see that they are blooming. For these sturdy maidens are modest and not craving the spot light. They like to cluster in groups with other May Apples and stand around at the edge of the woods, congregated together as if in a meeting. And like the quiet part of a Quaker Meeting they have their heads bowed in respect and are listening to the silence. Yes I get the same kind of inner hush when I am with them in those stolen minutes with my belly on the grass that I get in a silent Meeting with the Quakers.
They are content to keep all of their charms to themselves and their secret admirers. You will know that you were blessed to peek in, to notice, to give a bow to the demure May Apples and their maidens. And your heart will be nourished by their reassuring stance. Don't forget to keep your vision half opened and half closed, and for a moment be still within the hush so that you can see through the mist.
You never know what elfin creatures or woodland magicians might be hanging about. For these sort are quite fond of little apples that are more like lemons, which will be the fruit of these flowers of white petals and deep yellow stamens. So these spirit ones often gather around about the May Apple patch to try and steal some racoon lemons for themselves, when the hour is right.
First it dawns on you, one day early in the month, hey it’s May! Then you walk past a May Apple patch and you wonder, are they blooming yet? So you quietly approach them and you get down low to the ground, even upon your very belly, where if you are lucky you will look up to see them smiling at you. White and yellow, steady and true every year in May.
My brother thought I was crazy when I carried some May Apple plants from the edge of the woods once and planted them in by the western side of my little pine grove. " What would you want to do that for?" he asked, "May Apples grow everywhere!"
Well perhaps he is right, they do. Perhaps I am crazy, but where else can I get down on my belly in the grass and get my head up under May Apples big glossy umbrella like leaves? Where else can I get my nose close enough to this darling flower that bears the name of May, so that I can inhale her scent? Sweet and lemony, fresh and green that is how May Apples smell. They smell like they are saying, "Yes! It really is spring for sure now! No more doubts!"
I have read in books that May Apples have a nauseous smell. Perhaps the writers caught the May Apple smell after the flower had been pollinated. Bees know that a flowers first scent is the beautiful one, the one that intoxicates her pollinator. Then the sweet scent fades as she begins to fruit. I reach out to touch their flower petals and they are thick and sort of rubbery feeling, not delicate little things like the Spring Beauties, but sturdy and sure.
You don't just walk by May Apples and see that they are blooming. For these sturdy maidens are modest and not craving the spot light. They like to cluster in groups with other May Apples and stand around at the edge of the woods, congregated together as if in a meeting. And like the quiet part of a Quaker Meeting they have their heads bowed in respect and are listening to the silence. Yes I get the same kind of inner hush when I am with them in those stolen minutes with my belly on the grass that I get in a silent Meeting with the Quakers.
They are content to keep all of their charms to themselves and their secret admirers. You will know that you were blessed to peek in, to notice, to give a bow to the demure May Apples and their maidens. And your heart will be nourished by their reassuring stance. Don't forget to keep your vision half opened and half closed, and for a moment be still within the hush so that you can see through the mist.
You never know what elfin creatures or woodland magicians might be hanging about. For these sort are quite fond of little apples that are more like lemons, which will be the fruit of these flowers of white petals and deep yellow stamens. So these spirit ones often gather around about the May Apple patch to try and steal some racoon lemons for themselves, when the hour is right.
Blessed be the May Apple and
May your May be beautiful.
Text and Photos, Copyright © 2004, by Trendle Ellwood. All Rights Reserved.
Thursday, May 06, 2004
Embracing the River
by White Feather
Copyright © 2004, by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. Books by White Feather
(0) comments
You know, writing is a directional thing. It is a flow. It is an interpretation of a flow of energy. Let's look at it like it's a river since rivers are famous for flowing. You, the writer, are sitting on the riverbank at the very edge of the water. What you are going to do is embrace a snippet of river as it flows by and in so doing, you imprint your vibrations upon that snippet of river flowing by.
And then it's gone. That snippet of river is downriver and out of sight before you know it. So what you do is focus on another embracement and imprinting. Of course, it's gone pretty fast, too; being swept away by the river. But that river carries your imprinting far, far downstream and a lot of people sitting on the riverbanks downstream will see your embracement go by and they will feel the joy and love that was imprinted in it and it will help awaken the joy and love in their own hearts. Your embracement floating by may influence a lot of other peoples' embracements. People may end up sitting by the river and waiting for one of your embracements to come floating by.
The important thing to remember is that everything that you write is an embracement of the life-giving energy that flows through you. But once you embrace something it is no longer yours! Once it's embraced and imprinted then it's flowing away down the river. It's gone. It is a tendency for us to try to hold onto those embracements because they're "ours" and we don't want to see them float down the river away from us. This is both damming and damning. What are you doing when you don't let a river flow naturally; when you try to hold back the water? You're damming it. This, in turn, damns your creative efforts, so instead of having a constant flow of new river to embrace you've just got a pool of the same water. And stagnation sets in.
We don't own our writing creations. I'm not talking about copyright or anything like that but rather I'm speaking in universal terms. Of course, in universal terms we really don't own anything (yet everything). Anyway, our writings are our "creations" but once created they are no longer ours. It's like childbirth. Yeah, the kid might be ours but once it shoots out of the mother's body it is its own divine being and is not "owned" by anyone. But like with kids, we tend to hold on to our creations because of this perception of ownership we are stuck in. Ownership dams the flow. Some parents never let go of their children and some writers never let go of their creations.
So put yourself back at that riverbank. You're watching the river flow by. You've got pen and paper handy and you do an embracement and that embracement produces a poem. Once the poem is fully embraced, throw it in the river. Just throw it. You no longer own it. Just toss it in the river. Now you're free to enjoy your next embracement.
What will happen as you send embracements, one after another, down the river is that other people sitting on the riverbanks downstream will pull your poem out of the river and "read" it. If the poem sparks love, joy, or beauty within the reader then that reader's embracement of love, joy, or beauty is fed into another flow of energy that flows in the opposite direction of the river. This one flows through the air over the river and is a collection of energy from the accumulated embracements of all the readers downstream.
So there you are still sitting by the river. You are making lots of embracements and sending them on down the river. Meanwhile, as you breath in the air you are filled with that other flow of energy that includes all the energy of those downstream. So you've got a double flow going. But if you dam one flow then the other one stops, too. So embrace and release. Embrace/release. Don't hold on to anything. Just feel....and release.
You see the more appropriate way of "owning" something is to feel it; to embrace it. But we tend to view "owning" something as holding it within our grasp. We can't own anything until we've felt and embraced it and released it.
When we hold onto something and don't throw it in the river, so to speak, because we're worried about what people downstream might think then we're damming the double energy flow that we need to further "create." But this is why we won't let go of our stuff and throw it in the river because we have fear of that energy flow coming back towards us. It's a tough fear to walk through but it's also as easy as throwing a piece of paper into a river. The important thing to remember is that we cannot fully embrace our creations if we are judging them. That's not feeling. That's mental dam-building.
So perhaps you've already thrown a few pieces of paper in the river but you are not yet accustomed to the double flow of energy and your fears and judgments are all that are preventing an unimpeded flow. But you're new at this and your beginner's apprehension will evaporate further with each new piece of paper thrown in the river. So relax and enjoy the river. Keep your focus on the river in front of you and don't let your mind wander to those downstream. The river directly in front of you (the NOW) is the only place in the river where you can embrace/release/create.
And then it's gone. That snippet of river is downriver and out of sight before you know it. So what you do is focus on another embracement and imprinting. Of course, it's gone pretty fast, too; being swept away by the river. But that river carries your imprinting far, far downstream and a lot of people sitting on the riverbanks downstream will see your embracement go by and they will feel the joy and love that was imprinted in it and it will help awaken the joy and love in their own hearts. Your embracement floating by may influence a lot of other peoples' embracements. People may end up sitting by the river and waiting for one of your embracements to come floating by.
The important thing to remember is that everything that you write is an embracement of the life-giving energy that flows through you. But once you embrace something it is no longer yours! Once it's embraced and imprinted then it's flowing away down the river. It's gone. It is a tendency for us to try to hold onto those embracements because they're "ours" and we don't want to see them float down the river away from us. This is both damming and damning. What are you doing when you don't let a river flow naturally; when you try to hold back the water? You're damming it. This, in turn, damns your creative efforts, so instead of having a constant flow of new river to embrace you've just got a pool of the same water. And stagnation sets in.
We don't own our writing creations. I'm not talking about copyright or anything like that but rather I'm speaking in universal terms. Of course, in universal terms we really don't own anything (yet everything). Anyway, our writings are our "creations" but once created they are no longer ours. It's like childbirth. Yeah, the kid might be ours but once it shoots out of the mother's body it is its own divine being and is not "owned" by anyone. But like with kids, we tend to hold on to our creations because of this perception of ownership we are stuck in. Ownership dams the flow. Some parents never let go of their children and some writers never let go of their creations.
So put yourself back at that riverbank. You're watching the river flow by. You've got pen and paper handy and you do an embracement and that embracement produces a poem. Once the poem is fully embraced, throw it in the river. Just throw it. You no longer own it. Just toss it in the river. Now you're free to enjoy your next embracement.
What will happen as you send embracements, one after another, down the river is that other people sitting on the riverbanks downstream will pull your poem out of the river and "read" it. If the poem sparks love, joy, or beauty within the reader then that reader's embracement of love, joy, or beauty is fed into another flow of energy that flows in the opposite direction of the river. This one flows through the air over the river and is a collection of energy from the accumulated embracements of all the readers downstream.
So there you are still sitting by the river. You are making lots of embracements and sending them on down the river. Meanwhile, as you breath in the air you are filled with that other flow of energy that includes all the energy of those downstream. So you've got a double flow going. But if you dam one flow then the other one stops, too. So embrace and release. Embrace/release. Don't hold on to anything. Just feel....and release.
You see the more appropriate way of "owning" something is to feel it; to embrace it. But we tend to view "owning" something as holding it within our grasp. We can't own anything until we've felt and embraced it and released it.
When we hold onto something and don't throw it in the river, so to speak, because we're worried about what people downstream might think then we're damming the double energy flow that we need to further "create." But this is why we won't let go of our stuff and throw it in the river because we have fear of that energy flow coming back towards us. It's a tough fear to walk through but it's also as easy as throwing a piece of paper into a river. The important thing to remember is that we cannot fully embrace our creations if we are judging them. That's not feeling. That's mental dam-building.
So perhaps you've already thrown a few pieces of paper in the river but you are not yet accustomed to the double flow of energy and your fears and judgments are all that are preventing an unimpeded flow. But you're new at this and your beginner's apprehension will evaporate further with each new piece of paper thrown in the river. So relax and enjoy the river. Keep your focus on the river in front of you and don't let your mind wander to those downstream. The river directly in front of you (the NOW) is the only place in the river where you can embrace/release/create.
Copyright © 2004, by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. Books by White Feather
