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In March of 2004 a group of metaphysically-minded writers got together and formed the Asamee Writers Group. For over two years the writers pooled their creations into the Asamee Blog. The group disbanded in the summer of 2006. This is a complete archiving of all the writings. A complete index is in the left column.
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Sunday, June 27, 2004

Berries and Market Meetings 

by Trendle Ellwood

My life seems to involve two things these days, berry picking and market going. Summer solstice passed and so they say that the length of day is shortening. But still I know that the hottest days are yet to come. As I search out the ripe black raspberry I see bumper crops of the wild blackberries turning plump and green alongside the fencerows. Soon they will glisten black and I will be plunking them into my pails. These wild berries get into your blood, or maybe they were already there, something that I inherited. I had to laugh out loud when Grandpa told me that he could never stop picking until his pail was full when I took him and Grandma some berries the other day. Hah! Does that sound like someone else you know? Oh how I wish that he were well enough to go picking with me now as we did when I was a child. Ah! But life can be bittersweet.

Speaking of bittersweet, the vines of them that we planted in our yard have little green buds all over them and I am thrilled that I will have the delightful orange clusters of them to cheer me this fall. The Elder bushes are taking off their lacy white dresses and putting on green berries also. The red raspberries are ripening in our garden. I feel married to the seasons, being so intimate with them, each berry passing ripe through my fingers. There is something that gets downloaded into me as I pass through each of their unique colors and textures, something that I can feel but cannot quite put my finger on.

How fitting that the first ripe berry makes us kneel to the ground as if in worship. They have bred plants to do many unusual things, but they have not yet bred the strawberry to grow on a bush. And so it is in kneeling that we start off the berry-picking season.

So then it is a relief to not kink our bodies up bent over but to get to stand when the strawberry has finished her blushing and the black raspberry is ready. And then also it is a relief to pick the domestic red raspberries from the garden without fighting the briar and the thorn of the wild.

When I am not dreaming of picking or actually picking these fruits, then we are off to market. Every once in a while we will join a small group of the market vendors to an outing at a nearby restaurant. I have to admit that we are the most boisterous group at the restaurant. I cannot help it, sometimes I look around to see if we are disturbing anybody. Is anyone getting up and moving because of us? We get fired up, talking about farming practices that go against nature, people who don’t understand our mission, and customers who complain about our prices. We decide that we just need to educate them!

Most of us live without health insurance, air conditioners, or two bathroom houses. We believe in living simply, our main mission is not about making money. Sure, we would like to have enough money, but we are not out to rob peoples pockets dry as some people try to think. There might be produce cheaper down at the nearby grocery store but where did it come from? What has it been sprayed with? Herbicides? Insecticides? Were sustainable agricultural methods used to produce it?

Unlike the big farmers we do not get subsidized for anything. I read in the newspaper today that they are paying farmers to plant grasses and trees alongside river and creek banks to help lower the amount of toxic chemicals that flow from the fields into our waterways. This surely is a good thing, but we do not have to get paid by the government to do the right thing, keeping in harmony with nature is what we are all about. It is what we believe in! We humans have pushed this good earth to her limit; it is time to look at what we are doing and how we are bringing food from her.

As we discuss these things at our gatherings on Wednesday evenings we sometimes get a little loud with our passionate feelings. But those who wait on us do not seem to mind; they even keep a big table open for us, just in case we show up after market. I am feeling a kinship with these fellow tenders of the earth that I have not felt with a group of people in a long time except for the group that gathers here at the White Feather Forum. June is almost over and I must go and once again put on my long pants because the ripe glistening berry beckons still.

Copyright © 2004, by Trendle Ellwood. All Rights Reserved.
Visit my forum With the Seasons



Using Roses in the Kitchen

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Thursday, June 24, 2004

Homosexuality on Turtle Island 

by White Feather

It is commonly believed that homosexuality is limited to the human species but this has been scientifically proven to be false. Among the animals who have been scientifically documented as engaging in homesexual relations is the American Bison--more commonly known as the buffalo.

Although modern white academia didn't get around to making the scientific discovery until the 1970s, the Lakota knew about it for hundreds of years. It was a natural part of their intimate knowledge of the buffalo. It became validated for academia after two U.S. universities did extensive studies on free-range buffalo herds.

It was learned--and documented--that when the females of a buffalo herd were about to go into heat, the herd's alpha male (each herd had a dominant male leader) would suddenly start having sex with other males in the herd. This homosexual activity would only last a short time; until the females came into heat, at which point all males turned their attention towards the females and the propagation of the herd. Academia is still trying to come up with an explanation.

Having observed this buffalo behavior for hundreds of years, the Lakota had an explanation for it. They saw it as very normal. The way they saw it, the dominant alpha male was looking out for the welfare and continued existence of the herd. Sensing the females about to come into heat, the alpha male was merely getting the other males in the mood to start procreating. But he wasn't just doing that. He was also putting his vibrations into those other males so that they would, in turn, pass on those vibrations to the females and all the new calves to be born.

Is it any wonder that the Lakota viewed homosexuals differently than most other human societies? In Lakota society, gay men were revered. They were considered to possess special powers ordinary men didn't. If you were a gay man in Lakota society, you'd be called winkte. Most winkte ended up being shamans and medicine men, because of the special powers they were considered to possess. They were seen as different from other men; but they were seen as superior, or alpha. It was not unusual for a normally heterosexual male warrior to go sleep with a winkte before some great battle, in hopes of picking up some extra mojo. Mothers would bring their sick children to a winkte to have the winkte touch them, giving them their special alpha winkte powers of healing.


Copyright © 2004, by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. Books by White Feather

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Tuesday, June 22, 2004

The Other Side of Fear 

by White Feather

There has always been fear in the lives of humans in their current condition. It was caused by the big separation. And there will always be fear to some degree until that separation is mended.

So if fear is going to be there, can it be used constructively? How does fear help us evolve?

To understand this dimension, fear must be experienced and understood. We cannot go beyond fear except by going through it. We cannot go around it. All fears lead us eventually back to our selves. It is us on the other side of that fear. If we try to go around the fear on the right, then that part of our selves on the other side of fear moves around to the left. The only way is to walk directly through the fear.

When we walk through that fear we realize that we are walking through love as well. Within all fear there is love, and we can't know and experience that love without walking through it also. When our fears come up, it is a grand opportunity to walk through it, reclaiming the love that is there, which is hidden by the fear. The duality of love and fear is part of life. We miss a lot of love by not walking through our fears. When we don't walk through our fears, we just go in circles and the fear doesn't go away, and the love stays out of our reach as well.


Copyright © 2004, by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. Books by White Feather

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Sunday, June 20, 2004

The Lull Turned Lush 

by Trendle Ellwood

"We're not simple laborers or traditional farmers. We're refugees of a dying Industrial Age. We recognize the roots and origins of our modern urban culture, and we are here today to raise the voices of battered agricultural lands, to repair the damage to our soils, our families, our communities, and our culture. As such, we are worthy citizens." -James Donaldson

Our strawberries were now a thing of the past and there was a lull before our red raspberries would be ready for picking. I felt a little down, it had been so much fun passing out samples at market of our strawberry jam, and hearing everyone’s, “Oh yums!” as they tasted it. It seemed that ninety percent of those who tried a sampling bought a jar. And so it disappeared as soon as I could make it and bring it in. It is a wonderful feeling at market when you have something that practically sells itself. What would I have to do now? Of course we had Hubby’s honey and my flowers but I wished for a fruit. Fruit is the hot item at the farmers market.

The Amish down the road were selling the last of their strawberries for 2 dollars a quart! I was tempted to go and buy some and make it up into jam to have something to take the following week. I would still make a profit after processing them at that price. But alas there is more to life than the pursuit of the mighty dollar. If making money were all that we were about, we would be driving to work for somebody else. I have told our customers that our jams and jellies are made from fruit grown without herbicides or pesticides. It wouldn’t be right to sell them something that I could not put that guarantee behind. So I threw that temptation behind me.

Was there anything that could follow the much-loved strawberry? The rhubarb was still being asked for at market but she begged me not to pick her lovely ruby stalks anymore but to give her a time of rest. Our lettuce and radishes did not bring in much income, and we do need to pay the bills. Knowing that the creative force is always with us I threw a prayer to the universe for an answer to what I would take to market and then went about my daily duties.

Then a few days later it happened, I got my answer. Hubby walked into the door after a visit to his apiary (bee hives) up at Farmer Shaws and thrust before me a handful of wild black raspberries. Yes! Wild black raspberries! That was what I was presented by Hubby, by the universe, by God, by Merlin who laughs at my impatience as he says, “ See you are provided for!” I immediately called up the Shaws and told Becky that I was asking for permission to pick something again and before I even told her what, she was telling me to pick away. Oh! How wonderful to have such kindhearted farmers for neighbors who let me gather with delight the wild things that grow beside the woods and in their hedgerows!

So we found the buckets and dressed ourselves in long pants with long sleeves on our arms and set out for the brambles. Oh! It had been years since I had stalked the wild black raspberry! Why, it had been before we moved here! Where we used to live, there was wilder, unclaimed country where one could ramble and find the bushes. But here closer to a city, there seemed to be a shortage of spots for the brambles to spread.

But behind the apiary in Farmer Shaws untamed back yard, on top of an old wood pile that had never been burnt and was beginning to rot, the vines had spread unencumbered and they were full of green, red and black berries. The black ones just dying to be plunked into our pails, Plunk, plunk, plunk, oh how I love that sound and the way it soon changes to a soft thud, as the buckets get filled with glistening black berries.

Now, there is something that you might not know about me. I have obsessive-compulsive disorder when it comes to wild berry picking. Once I get started it is the only thing on my mind for days and days. When I close my eyes to go to sleep at night I see the red ones beckoning me as my dream hand reaches out to pluck the black one beside it. Hubby once asked me if I have ever consulted with a counselor about this, and I told him no I never talked to them about berries. He came back with, “Well don’t, or I might never see you again!”

I usually think of Hubby as the strong one, he works longer and with less breaks then I do. But when it comes to picking berries in the wild patch he will be the first one to tell you that I have more endurance then he does. The first day we went out he was ready to stop picking before I was. It has been that way all my life; I have always left everyone behind in the berry patch. With wild berry mettle beating in my heart and the adrenaline raceing through my body, I cannot stop until the last berry is picked.

Every day for a week we have been going back to pluck these berries which continue to ripen in the June heat. Oh sure, we fight mosquitoes and have to watch out for snakes. The nettle tries to sting us and the poison hemlock is a danger. Our legs and arms are all snagged up despite our long sleeves and jeans. My fingers are stained a dark purple, but there is a passion in my heart that is fulfilled when I am in the wild berry patch. I always feel so thankful when I am out there! Thankful for the breeze that cools my sweaty brow. Thankful that I have everything that I need, if I am thirsty I can eat some berries; if I am hungry I can eat more berries. So thankful for these free for the taking, grown by God wild berries. And oh so thankful that nobody else has found and claimed this particular berry patch!

But with this wild berry obsessive nature of mine, Farmers Shaw’s patch was not quite big enough to fulfill the desire which had been sparked within me. My mind, eyes and legs searched through the surrounding countryside trying to locate another patch, to no avail. That is until I was taking care of my neighbor’s dog down the road and collecting her mail for her while she was away. It was then that my eye spied a red berry on a bank. Soon I was scurrying up this bank and finding another awesome berry patch on the hill. My neighbor came back and I got her permission to pick away. I swore her to silence. Made her promise not to tell anyone else about this patch but to keep it our secret. Because you know the old saying, “ Finders keepers, losers weepers!” Well I might be weeping if anyone else finds that patch after I have already worn down paths through its grabbing briars to make the picking easier. And after I have dreamed all those red berries into turning black and glistening and plunking them softly into my pail. And of course I will award her for this silence, now that I know that she prefers black raspberry jam.

Our customers at market love my fresh made wild black raspberry jam and jelly as much as they did the strawberry. They are buying it as fast as we can bring it in. Isn’t it wonderful how God is with us, and how we are given what we need, just enough to keep our sales going. I wasn’t given a whole acre of wild berries to pick because God knows I would pick until I had heat stroke if that was the case. We have been given just enough, just enough to stain my fingers purple and to fill my heart with joy.

Copyright © 2004, by Trendle Ellwood. All Rights Reserved.

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Thursday, June 17, 2004

The See-Saw 

by White Feather

We all have numerous egos and all we do is fight them and try to kill them. We label them as bad and we must exterminate anything that is bad, right? Egos are not bad. They are a part of us. We're confused because we're doing battle against parts of ourselves.

Stop fighting your egos. The more you fight an ego, the more energy you give it and the more it will fight back. Drop your weapons. Stop the confusing war. Get to know your egos. Try to understand them and you will eventually be taken to the source of their power. Egos are driven by emotions. Fear is the main one, but all emotions fuel egos. We created egos for protection from our fears, but we also created them to act out all our other emotions. We need our egos to get through those emotions and we need to get through those emotions in order to get to what is at the root of all emotions, and that, of course, is unconditional love.

Emotions can be seen as both our resistance to unconditional love and our attempt to translate unconditional love into a system of duality where our egos can act out that translation. So we don't get back to unconditional love by killing our egos, but rather by making peace with our egos and trying to understand the translation they are showing us.

The thing about dark nights of the soul is that they are followed by bright days of the soul, which are followed by dark nights of the soul, which are followed by bright days of the soul, etc. Living in duality, this is the natural flow. We can go with the flow, fight it, or go beyond it by focusing on the center null point of ONE-ness. Just like with our days and nights on planet Earth, there is incredible beauty to be found just before sunrise or just as the sun is setting; those times when it's neither fully day nor fully night. It seems like it's half day and half night. The two are, ever so briefly, balanced out. Edgar Cayce said that sunrise and sunset were big windows into other dimensions. The center null point of balance is always a window.

As I watch people continually seesaw between dark nights of the soul and exuberant bright days of the soul, I see that everything is in order. It is very natural. The purpose of the seesaw ride is to have fun, but it is also to eventually draw our attention to that center null point; the fulcrum upon which we create our reality. As we ride the seesaw, our attention is usually either on going up or going down or on those sitting on the opposite end of the seesaw. There's great joy in shooting up in the air and there's some pain when your seat hits the ground coming down. But if you put your focus on the center null point fulcrum of the seesaw then you will find an incredible peace. There is no tension at all, even though the fulcrum is supporting the weight of the seesaw and its occupants. There is no competition in the fulcrum; it is all in the board and occupants. There is no war in the fulcrum because a fulcrum is a ONE-ness principle and war is a duality principle. A see-saw is symbolic of two different principles (ONE-ness and duality) working together to create a new principle and new reality.

Within us, our heart is our fulcrum and our egos are our children taking turns riding on the seesaw having lots of fun....and a few painful bumps. Don't battle your children. Don't discipline them. Love them, nurture them, understand them. They have a lot to teach. And they can show us how to have fun. But they need a steady fulcrum upon which play.


Copyright © 2004, by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. Books by White Feather

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Sunday, June 13, 2004

Market Storm 

by Trendle Ellwood


I have done quite a bit of bragging about how much I love to experience a thunderstorm. Well, I need to revise that a bit. I do love thunderstorms as long as I am viewing them from the safety of our own front porch.

There was a chance of a storm when we set up for market Wednesday evening. But when is there not a chance of a storm in our humid Ohio Junes? We went ahead and unfolded our awning and spread our tables, as did the other homesteaders. Soon we were busy selling our goods. I was passing out samples of our freshly made strawberry jam, which then sold it’s self. As I looked up and down the market row, I could see that the whole place was packed with people visiting the stands.

Mary the Coffee Café lady hollered at us that she had heard on the radio that the storm was 13 miles away. We all remained optimists, this threatening cloud would do like many a June cloud does, just sprinkle us a little then go on. Surely all these people would not be here sampling and buying if a storm were about to break loose.

Wrong! Suddenly we were getting dumped on with what seemed like bucketfuls of water from the sky, and the thunder and lightning were clanging and slashing through the air. I was gathering up our goods by taking the four corners of the tablecloths and drawing them together then throwing them into the back of the cab of the pickup truck in big scoops. People were gathered under our awning for what little protection it provided. I looked around me and saw that the other homesteaders were all doing the same flurried dance that I was.

We were soaking wet and wondering if the storm was going to ease or get worse. I could see the other homesteaders holding unto their awnings to keep them from blowing across the parking lot. Hubby lowered the storm facing side of our awning as a brace against the breaking wind. My thoughts were torn; here we had people hiding under our awning, now turned lean to, but yet what a risk we were taking holding unto metal poles in a thunderstorm! Swishing by our feet was at least four inches of water as the rain pelted down turning the pavement that we stood upon, into a rushing riverbed. I had the strangest feeling in my gut as I witnessed one of Amish man Dan’s angel food cakes swirling past us in this stream.

I kneeled down and stroked the cheek of the little girl who stood trembling beside me as we offered to help her and her mother to their car. With no idea if the storm was going to cease or get worse we made the decision to get our broken awning into our pickup trucks cab. The people ran through the lightning to their vehicles as we gathered up the rest of our stuff. Mary and some of the other homesteaders were helping us; we were all silly with stress, giggling in the rain like a bunch of crazies.

Just as we about got everything loaded up the storm seemed to lose intensity and the sky showed signs of clearing. Already wet to our bones we stood in the remaining rain as the homesteaders who had not retreated gathered to share stories. We decided if anyone had been able to video tape the scene of us all caught in that storm that it would have won us all some big bucks on the Funniest Home Videos Show.

The storm passed on as the last remaining raindrops came down. Most of the homesteaders packed up and left but there was still an hour left of market time so a few of us decided to remain. We spread out our tablecloths to dry and plopped our produce back upon the tables. We did continue to sell as more patrons arrived after the storm.

One fellow who had probably been in a local bar getting soaked in a different kind of way during the storm came by and I watched as he messed with Amish man Dan. Then he came over to our stand. He kept looking at my flowers, which were still beautiful with their blossoms of light blue and white Hydrangeas and pink and red Sweet Williams. He kept looking at them and exclaiming, “ seven dollars!” “ Seven dollars!”

I was trying to figure out if he thought they were cheap or what as I wrung the water from my skirt. Then he told me that he would buy one for four dollars but seven! That was the final straw! Couldn’t this man even see that I had just stood here through a thunderstorm with my very life at risk! And now he wanted to dicker with me about the price of my flowers! Now folks I don’t know if this is what Jesus would have done, I doubt it, but I ended up telling this fellow to go pick his own! Amish man Dan got a big kick out of this and bent over in a big belly laugh. Meanwhile Hubby was warming up his fist in case it would be needed if his wife got herself into deep water. Deep water, hah!

All in all we were glad that we stayed as some of our favorite customers came by. One of Hubby’s honey fans bought five jars to take with her on a trip to England. She just loooooves our honey she told us. The breeze left over from the storm helped dry our clothing and a group of us decided to go out to eat at the Mexican restaurant afterwards. We must have been the most boisterous bunch at the place as we shifted our stress into laughter with storm reminiscing.

Brian, one of the homesteaders who is a bit on the ornery side had viewed the storm as a chance for a wet t-shirt contest as he checked out the drenched females. I kept my thick apron on until my shirt dried! The fellows at the restaurant decided that they were going to get back at Brian and next Saturday at Market he is going to be called forward for a special award. Brian is going to be presented with a wet t-shirt trophy for himself! I cannot wait to see the look on his face at that moment.

Am I sorry? Am I sorry that sometimes our way of making a living leaves us drenched to the bone? A big resounding no! No, because we are free, free to flow like the June storms. And although we may be baked by the sun and plastered by the rain at times, our souls are living and growing. And we are working for something that we believe in, the bounty that we produce with love from our little spot on earth. But I must say, the next time that a big ole storm sweeps down with it’s free heart, I do hope that I am not out in it but safe at home on our front porch.

Copyright © 2004, by Trendle Ellwood. All Rights Reserved.


The Food of Northern Thailand

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Thursday, June 10, 2004

Prostitution and Divorce 

by White Feather

In the old Lakota society only the woman in a marriage had the power of divorce. And all she had to do to divorce her husband was to kick him out of her teepee. All teepees and communal property were owned by the women. Men only owned their horses and weapons. Everything else belonged to the women. And only the woman could grant a divorce. Men had no say in the matter--although if the man wanted a divorce bad enough he could engage in behavior that helped convince the woman to divorce him.

Real marriage or divorce happens only within one's heart. It only involves ONE person.

There is a little prostitution involved in practically every relationship. Prostitution is merely a means of exchange and we all are involved in exchanges that have subtle hints of prostitution at certain levels.

With unconditional love there is no exchange. Exchange is always conditional! Prostitution is when we exchange our sacredness for power (money). Most all of us do that on a daily...nay, hourly rate. So when we talk about prostitution we are really talking about the degree of prostitution that is acceptable. While we prostitute ourselves constantly in little subtle ways, we cross the line of acceptable prostitution when we exchange sex and money. There is a great hypocrisy involved in condemning prostitution on one side of the line and not on the other. It's all the same thing. It's an energy exchange.

With unconditional love there is no exchange! The holy bonds of matrimony are a condition! Divorce is a condition. When you unconditionally love someone, none of that other stuff matters one iota. If you unconditionally love someone, then chances are that you're not married to that someone because then your love would not be unconditional anymore. That's how unconditional unconditional can be.

With unconditional love there is no exchange! There is no giving and taking, there is merely a ONE-directional flow of energy. 99 percent of the sex humans engage in is an exchange! One percent of the sex (actually, less) is an expression of unconditional love--WHICH IS NOT AN EXCHANGE. Can you even imagine sex without any exchange involved? No give or take? Is it even possible? The ancient Hindu believed that this kind of rare sexual expression of unconditional love could bring about incredible enlightenment.

With unconditional love there is no exchange! Think about that. Imagine that. Stretch your thinking to accomodate every tangible result of such a statement.

As long as we are NOT in unconditional love then we are in some form of exchange. That is neither good nor bad but we judge it so in relation to the level of prostitution involved (according to our beliefs in prostitution). And, of course, our beliefs are shaped by our experiences and the experiences of all our aspects. Hopefully, every aspect will have a different perspective. In this way we can gain a whole perspective. That's why everyone--in one life or another--has experienced prostitution and that's also why we have all experienced murder. We are learning and experiencing a system of exchange (duality) so we must experience the whole system for a whole understanding. We must "stand under" all the perspectives.

I've had to learn that I've been a murderer and a no-account worthless son-of-a-bitch, but going beyond that I can see how the exchange patterns create a karma of their own. Once you see them you can them snip them off, so to speak, releasing karma. It's always handy to have a pair of scissors with you when you're out to release karma. Karma is like residue or imprints of exchanges made repeatedly over time. So unconditional love, since it goes beyond exchange, is a way of dissipating and going beyond karma.

By the way, wealth can be created through exchange but true abundance is created through unconditional love.


Copyright © 2004, by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. Books by White Feather

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Monday, June 07, 2004

Rafting Down the River of Time 

by White Feather

Being in the NOW we are in a constant state of motion. Stagnation is impossible. With each breath we move from one moment of NOW into a new moment of NOW. The movement never stops. Linear perspectives of time are our attempt to stop that movement long enough to categorize our NOWs into a framework for our understanding. It's all part of our journey through the hologram.

The NOW is a constant flow. If we are rafting down the river of linear time our thoughts and focus can be on any part of the river but our actual physical experience of rafting down that river takes places in only one specific spot; in that raft. That's where the NOW is.

We can dream of the joy we'll experience farther down the river and we can wax nostalgic about the joy we experienced back up the river, but the only place we can actually experience that joy is in the NOW.

From a universal standpoint that whole long journey down the river took about 3 seconds. That's all. That's how close to simultaneous it all is. It took about 3 seconds of universal time to fill up every single moment of NOW on that long trip down the river with our essence so that we could experience the trip down the river. Though each of our NOWs are filled with essence at roughly the same time, we journey through those NOWs in a linear fashion in order to understand the story of the whole trip down the river.

It can be said that we lived many lives along the course of that river but we can also say that we are a unique and different individual with each and every one of those NOWs we experience along the way. We are constantly changing when we're in the NOW. Constantly. Every single NOW is different. When we are in the flow of the NOW and are fully embracing each new and different NOW then we can resonate to that essence which is the bigger "us" which filled with life all those moments of NOW along the river in the first place. And in so connecting we are also connecting to all the different parts of us that embraced all the different NOWs along the river. Through connecting and embracing the NOW we are able to begin to see the ONE-ness of it all. It is from this perspective of ONE-ness that we can see the simultaneous nature of universal time and how it corresponds to our linear perspective. From this perspective we can see how imperative it was that we use linear time to move our understanding back to a point of being able to imagine simultaneous time. It was an evolutionary tool and as with any tool when the function of the tool becomes obsolete then so does the tool.


Copyright © 2004, by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. Books by White Feather

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Sunday, June 06, 2004

While Venus Sings 

by Trendle Ellwood


Today we will go down to where the
Hemlock tree grows on stones.
To find a hollow place
In the crevice of the hills.

A gateway opens.
Beckons us within.
Beside the moss and the fern.

Do we enter?
Or do we stay?
There is fear,
We are resistant to change
What lies beyond the opening?

An ever expanding
Joyous journey!
For it leads us home again.
Within.

Just a hollow place,
In the crevice of the hills.
While Venus sings.

Copyright © 2004, by Trendle Ellwood. All Rights Reserved.

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Thursday, June 03, 2004

The Tale of the Two Track Stars 

by White Feather

The master of ceremonies for the championship track meet was none other than Kent Brockster. You might remember him from such low-budget documentaries such as Cheese, Why We Need It and Getting Obscenely Rich With Needlepoint. Kent never had any goals when he was growing up other than to be popular. He fell into his career simply because he had that perfect voice for narration. He just went along where ever his voice led him and now after 36 years of doing news, narrating documentaries, doing commercials, and hosting countless stupid events, Kent no longer had the patience to wait for the two track stars who were late.

The event was supposed to have started thirty seconds ago. As though to make sure it was still working--or to hurry things us--Kent tapped on his watch with his fingernail. There was no response and he put his arm down to his side, expelling a deep sigh. If only people realized how much waiting I had to do, thought Kent. If I added up all the time I've spent waiting for everything to be in place before I began speaking, I'd....I'd....well, I'd have a whole extra lifetime!

Just then, Gloria and Amber, the two track stars, appeared at the gate to the field. The crowd, numbering about four thousand, erupted in cheers. Gloria and Amber were the two top-seeded track stars and were now facing each other off for the crown.

Today's race would not be a typical race. For one thing, there were only two girls running around the track. But the run would also contain many hurdles--hurdles which the girls themselves placed on their paths. Each girl was allowed to place as many hurdles in their lanes as they wanted and they could set them as high as they wanted. Gloria placed 17 hurdles on her path around the track and Amber placed 14 hurdles. Gloria set her hurdles as high as she had ever jumped before while Amber set hers at the lowest setting.

As the two girls walked ever-so-slowly to their starting points, waving to the crowd the whole way, Kent Brockster let his mind wander as he stared across the crowd. He thought about the only goal he had left, and that was retirement. Then he wouldn't have to do this anymore....but then he would no longer be in the public eye. He dreaded retirement as much as he longed for it.

As the girls did their final stretching, Kent tapped the microphone to make sure it was still on--much like he had tapped on his watch before. Clearing his throat, Kent Brockster addressed the crowd:

"Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the ultimate sporting matchup this state has ever seen. Hello, I'm Kent Brokster. You might remember me from the Channel 7 News or last year's All-State Tractor Pull. I'm here to introduce you to the two greatest athletes to grace the tracks of our fair region. These two women have worked their way through every obstacle imaginable to get to the top and now they only have each other standing in the way. Today it will be decided which of the two is the best....the one who gets to wear the crown."

At the mention of the crown, the crowd went crazy. Waiting--once again--for the noise to subside, Kent then continued, "Ladies and gentleman, in the left lane we have Gloria." Once again, the crowd erupted in cheering. "And...and in the right lane we have Amber." And once again with the cheering. The two track stars were waving and bowing to the audience enciting them into further noise.

"As you know!" said Kent rather loudly, "Each star has placed their hurdles in their lanes. The girls will each run around the track one time and I'll be here at the finish line with the crown to place on the winner's head."

As both Gloria and Amber got in their set positions, Kent raised the starting pistol into the air. Shooting that pistol, for Kent, was an extra added bonus. It felt good for him to fire it although sometime he wanted to fire it horizontally intead of vertically.

"Ready! Set!" As the crowd fell into silence, Kent pulled the trigger and the race began.

It was no surprise that Gloria jumped out to an early lead. She had built up a bit of a reputation for that; being fast out of the gate. The crowd was not expecting to see how Amber got started, however. To everyone's surprise, when the pistol was fired Amber merely stood erect slowly and began walking--and walking rather slowly. A hush fell across the bleachers.

But then Gloria cleared her first hurdle as though flying right over it and the crowd broke into cheers again. Kent Brockster's eyes were fixed on Gloria leaping over the hurdle like a graceful gazelle. He had seen his share of sporting events and recognized talent when he saw it. Kent gasped, though, when he turned his attention to Amber. He covered his opened mouth with his hand.

Many in the crowd were also watching with jaw dropped as Amber put her hands in her pockets and began whistling as she ambled ever so slowly around the track. Was she sleepwalking? She didn't even seem to be paying attention. It was as though she were taking a leisurely stroll through a park. It was as though she were utterly enjoying her self. Each step was short and slow as Amber looked around as though she were seeing scenery she had never seen before. A gasp went through the crowd when Amber stopped walking to watch the flight of a cabbage butterfly flitting across the field.

By this time, Gloria was already halfway around the track and she had flawlessly cleared nine more hurdles and was coming upon her eleventh hurdle. The sound of the crowd gasping and oohing and aahing did not sound right to Gloria but she tried to block it out and focus on her next hurdle. This was the same hurdle that she had failed to clear in one of her State competitions--a competition which coincidentally was also mastered by Kent Brockster. Failing to clear the hurdle only encouraged Gloria to set the hurdle even higher. She pushed herself hard and the hurdles, to her, were never set high enough. Her brother, a one-time All-State high school football player, joked, "What she really wants to do is fly."

With Amber walking around in a somnambulant state, the crowd turned their attention to Gloria--seemingly simultaneously. At least, that's what Gloria felt was happening. It was enough to divert her focus and she went crashing into the eleventh hurdle. Gloria, along with pieces of the hurdle, went flying. But it wasn't a take off so much as a crash landing. Gloria went skidding across the track and an entire childhood of skinned knee and elbow memories flooded to the surface. The crowd went bonkers.

Gloria's only thought, however, was to get up and keep running. Surely she would be overtaken by Amber at any second. She didn't even bother looking at her skinned elbows and knees; she just got right back up to start running. It was then that she turned her head around to see that Amber wasn't right behind her. Looking back near the starting line, Gloria could see Amber walking! This momentarily confused Gloria but she shook it off and began running again. She still had six more hurdles to go.

By this time, Amber finally reached her first hurdle and to everyone's further shock she merely walked around it! But the crowd was barely finished gasping when four thousand heads turned simultaneously to the other side of the track to see Gloria clear two more hurdles. The hurdles didn't even seem to slow Gloria down. With some space before Gloria's next hurdle the crowd again turned its collective head towards Amber who was now skipping merrily like a school child. "At least she's making better time," thought Kent Brockster.

Kent then turned his head with the crowd to see Gloria crash into another hurdle. The crowd let out a screaming and a wailing that could be heard all the way to the Shangri-La Trailer Park. This time, Gloria didn't get up right away. Perhaps she wasn't so quick to rise on account of Amber being so hopelessly far behind her or perhaps it just hurts a lot more when you skin knees and elbows that were just skinned less than a minute before. Whatever the case, Gloria just laid there, her chin resting on the hot asphalt.

Gloria let the pain run its slow course and then she very slowly started to get up. By this time, Amber had meandered past her third obstacle. She was no longer skipping but rather walking very slowly again. Looking back and forth between the two seemingly forlorn track stars, the crowd was suddenly gasped out. Kent was beside himself.

"Good God almighty! This is going to take forever," murmured Kent under his breath. It was a good thing the microphone wasn't near his mouth. He continued with his murmuring, "I could grow a beard in the time it's going to take to finish this race." With this thought, Kent's hand automatically raised to his face and he rubbed it across his face. "Still smooth," he whispered.

Over the past five or six years Kent had been thinking a lot about growing a beard. Since he had never been seen with a beard in his life perhaps no one would recognize him with one. Heck, he probably wouldn't even recognize himself. With a beard, a hat, and some sunglasses perhaps Kent would be able to stroll down the street of Anywhere, USA and not be recognized. "Everything is backwards," he murmured to himself. At the beginning of his career, Kent tried as hard as he could to get everyone to recognize him and now he was scheming ways to hide from everyone. Turning his attention back to the race, Kent continued his mumbling, "This race is certainly backwards."

Amber was still lolligagging around the track like some blissed out junkie. She continued walking around her hurdles and with one of them she got down on her knees and crawled under it. At one point, she stopped to pick some dandelion flowers alongside the track. She was finally nearing the mid-point in her trip around the track.

Meanwhile Gloria had gotten up and resumed her running but now she was limping and her pace had slowed considerably. She was too hurt to clear her remaining hurdles but she tried anyway, knocking them down in the process. With blood running down her arms and legs, Gloria pushed onward to the finish line. After knocking over her last hurdle, she looked across the track at Amber who was in the process of doing a cartwheel. What? Gloria was confused but she managed to put all of her focus back into running. She kicked it into overdrive, as they say, and, despite the searing pain, she picked up speed for the final leg of the race. In a flash she was crossing the finish line.

"Finally," murmured Kent Brockster. "Now if only the other one would hurry up." As Gloria slowed her running after passing the finish line, Kent turned his eyes to Amber who was still walking slowly and still only a little past halfway around the track. Kent rubbed his hand over his face again but it was still smooth.

The crowd had fallen silent. It was hard to cheer someone who didn't even seem to be trying. In muted astonishment, the crowd watched Amber very slowly walk around the track.

Kent looked over at Gloria to see that she was now on the ground, her arms and legs being treated by trainers. He then looked at the crowd who seemed in a state of confused suspended animation. Then he looked at Amber who was now kicking an empty soda can down the track. "I wish someone would kick her down the track," he murmured. The waiting was killing him.

Amber forgot about the can when a pair of geese flew by overhead. She stopped walking and looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. When the geese honked, Amber, to everyone's further amusement, honked back. The crowd never looked up at the geese. Everyone's gazes remained fixed on Amber who had now resumed her painfully slow walk towards the finish line.

Kent found himself wondering what it would be like to be smoking a cigarette right now. Kent didn't smoke but he figured if he did, right now, would be a very perfect time for a smoke. Kent looked at the stupified crowd and wondered how many people in the crowd were jonesing for a cigarette right about now. Under his breath, Kent laughed a little sinister laugh.

Then he looked back at Amber who was doing yet another cartwheel. "Hotdog!" Kent said with a scowl. Some in the crowd actually applauded the cartwheel. "Idiots!" Kent said with a scowl.

Kent then started thinking about hotdogs and as he did so a little ping went off in his stomach. Like a trained monkey, he lifted his microphone-holding left hand up in order to look at his watch. "It looks like it's going to be a late lunch today," he said under his breath. He tapped the watch with his fingernail even though that didn't help make lunch come earlier. With another deep sigh, Kent dropped his arm and continued to wait. Looking at Amber, who was now twirling in circles, he let out another sigh.

To have something to do, Kent looked over at Gloria to see that she was now sitting up while her trainers continued to dress her wounds. That didn't take long. Kent looked back at Amber and she was now moonwalking. "That damn Michael Jackson!" Kent said under his breath.

Looking at Amber, then at Gloria, and then at the crowd, Kent let out another sigh and turned his attention to the sky above. Oh, how wonderful it must be like to be a cloud, he thought. As a cloud you can go where ever you want whenever you want. And since you'd be constantly changing no one would ever recognize you. Kent imagined himself a cloud being blown through the sky, morphing constantly, swimming through the air. Now that would be grand!

As Kent continued staring into the sky he began noticing that a certain cloud suddenly looked a lot like a boat; his boat to be exact. That boat cost a pretty penny and he only used it maybe two weeks out of the year. Kent wondered what it would be like to get in his boat and never come back. He could grow a beard and get a pipe and be a sea captain. As long as he didn't talk in his "professional voice" no one would recognize him and he could just be a happy sea captain for the rest of his life. On his boat he could be like that cloud.

"Aye, matie," Kent said under his breath in his best sea captain voice. This was followed by a little snicker and then he looked back down to earth and saw that Amber had not progressed very much at all. She was only a little over three-quarters of the way around the track. Looking over at the crowd, Kent noticed that there were many who were taking bathroom breaks. There was also a small bunch now actively cheering every one of Amber's molasses slow steps.

Kent wiggled his toes inside his shoes to help bring back the circulation. He felt that he was very close to breaking into pacing. Pacing had been a problem for Kent in the early years but he had managed to train himself not to do it in public. But he could only take so much.

With each minute becoming more agonizing than the next, Kent stood there and waited. And waited. And waited. And as he waited his life began to flash before his eyes. Was this the end? Would this be the straw that broke the commentator's back? Would he be able to make it until Amber crossed the finish line? Or would he go postal?

Amber was all smiles as she neared the finish line. She was waving; to the crowd, to the birds and butterflies, and to unseen benevolent phantoms. She was exuding happiness and the crowd was now starting to cheer her as she approached the waiting Kent Brockster. Helped by her trainers, Gloria was now limping back to the finish line. The crowd slowly rose to its feet when Amber got to about twenty paces from the finish line and the cheering intensified tremendously.

It was enough to break Kent out of his stupor. He turned to face the approaching Amber. The tiresome waiting would soon be over. He was about to raise the microphone to his mouth but, after all, she had twenty more paces, so there was still time.

With each step towards the finish line taken by Amber the crowd got louder. The excitement level was tremendous. Despite the fact that he was wearing a jacket, Kent could feel the hairs on his arms stand up. Finally, Amber walked over the finish line and Kent stepped up to her and grabbed her hand, holding it up into the air. With his other hand he brought the microphone up to his mouth and shouted, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!"

The crowd went crazy with applause. Kent continued holing Amber's hand up into the air. Amber seemed confused and was no longer smiling.

Finally, Kent let Amber's hand go and he reached behind him where a man was waiting with a crown. Kent took the crown and, turning back around, placed it on Amber's head. He then addressed the crowd again, "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the new queen of the track, Amber!" The crowd, once again, went crazy. Gloria was cussing up a storm but because of the crowd you couldn't hear a word she was saying.

The applause lasted a long time--but in comparison to Amber's stroll around the track it really wasn't that long. When it finally subsided Kent spoke into the microphone again but this time he addressed Amber, "Amber, how do you feel and what do you have to say to the crowd?" He moved the microphone near her mouth.

"Well, Mr. Brockster, this crown really makes me feel funny. It's way too heavy and it affects my center of gravity and therefore hampers my natural movement as I walk." To everyone's horror, Amber took off the crown and handed it back to Kent. "I can't do cartwheels with a crown on. Thanks, but no thanks. All I want to do is walk."

His jaw dropped open and his microphone limp at his side, Kent took back the crown from Gloria and watched in amazement as she proceeded to continue walking. It looked like she was going to walk around the track again. With the crown in hand, Kent didn't know what to say or do. He watched Amber walk off and, to his further amazement, he watched several people from the crowd jump out of the stands and follow Amber in her walking. At least two dozen people joined Amber. The rest of the crowd fell silent and their collective attention was now on Kent Brockster. What happens now?

Kent was utterly beside himself. None of his experience over his 36 year career prepared him to deal with this situation. He was utterly clueless as to what to do. He just stood there wishing he was a cloud.

Slowly, Kent realized that the entire crowd, as well as Gloria and her trainers, were staring at him waiting for something to happen; waiting for him to say something to allay their confusion. Hee hee! You people have made me wait all these years and now you get to see what it's like! thought Kent. You don't like it, do you; waiting and waiting and waiting?

And then Kent got an idea. He walked toward Gloria and placed the crown on her head. Turning to the audience, he brought the microphone to his mouth and proclaimed, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new winner!" The crowd, as can be expected, went nuts.

Kent proclaimed Gloria the new queen and, all smiles, she then walked the width of the stands as she was showered with roses and emotional exclamations. She walked slowly back and forth in front of the crowd blowing kisses and waving. Kent, meanwhile, looked over at Amber and the people following her. They had now veered off the track and were headed for the forest.

Kent shook his head. This sure was a backwards day. His job was now finally over and all he wanted to do was go to his boat. Looking around him, he noticed that no one was paying any attention to him any longer. All the attention was now on the new queen Gloria. Kent sighed a sigh of relief. And then he went into action.

He gave the microphone to the guy who was holding the crown and then he started walking away. And he was walking much like Amber did; without a care in the world. As he walked across the field he took off his tie and flung it on the grass. After a life of never ever littering it now felt good to just throw that tie. Next, Kent took off his watch and flung it, too. Some homeless person will probably find that and take it to the pawn shop and get enough money for it to feed themselves for a few weeks, thought Kent. Ah, it felt good to be charitable.

Feeling invigorated, Kent just walked. There was no looking back. He was just going to keep walking until he got to his boat. Oh, man it felt good to just walk and thrill in the movement. Moving free of restrictions, he was like a cloud--a cloud in a business suit. Taking off his jacket, he flung that, too. He waved his arms through the air and did his first cartwheel in over twenty-five years. Continuing his walk, Kent felt his face and chuckled as he felt the first stubble coming in.


Copyright © 2004, by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. Books by White Feather

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Tuesday, June 01, 2004

31 Flavors 

by White Feather

Having so many choices, how do you react? How do you pick one flavor out of 31 flavors of ice cream? How do you proceed with the choice-making? What if you had never tried any of the 31 flavors? They were all new to you. Without past associations, what do you rely upon? What is it that can draw us to a particular flavor? Can there be any randomness? Or is there a principle that still draws us to a certain flavor; a principle that does not involve the brain?

If we create our own reality, then we created all those flavors, so we already know how they taste. Are we creating the flavors in order to awaken certain vibrations? Having created the flavors then the flavors are presenting themselves to be tasted, bringing that creation into manifestation.

If we created all those flavors then we also created the situation of choice-making. And so it is with all things and events in our lives. Every choice was created to present the opportunity to experience every facet of existence. We are here to experience all the flavors of living, so that we can see and be every part of our creation.

There is no such thing as a bad or wrong choice. All choices have already been made and thus must be experienced. All choices lead to a wholeness of understanding. Regretting choices made in the past keeps us tied into those choices, restricting our ability to focus on new choices. Choices can only be made in the present. They don't last forever. We must continually be making new choices with each new NOW.

The NOW is a wonderful place. The energy and power of the NOW is infinite. When our attention is fully there, we are fully alive.


Copyright © 2004, by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. Books by White Feather

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