Asamee Blog

By Patricia C. Myers

As I gaze out the window feeling the separation from summer the freezing scene nips my emotions and the chill of loneliness slips over me. I travel through Time and remember happy moments that bring squeals of child delight as Life is given to Frosty.

Dangling precariously from a nearly invisible silver thread was Grandmother Spider frozen in the act of knitting her treasure in a silken sack for some future pleasure. Her needle like legs are open wide as she prepared to embrace the transformation of death. I wait. I watch for signs of Life. In my mind I see her scramble up to the safety of her web.

But she moves.. not.

This pensive mood flows from deep within my Soul as I search for answers to ancient questions and find them short in coming. I blink away the tears of longing for those I Love Knowing full well that solitude will once again be present under the Tree of Christmas Lights.

A warm nudge pressed against my leg pulls my THOHTS into feline green pools of kittenesque innocence and reminds me I am not alone.

I am Loved. And so is she.

Love is the never ending Circle of Light.
It is always there if we, but choose to see.

by White Feather

That's right, you read that title correctly. We had snow today on the Fourth of July--two weeks after the summer solstice! Mind you, we didn't have snow here in town--although that is a possibility at this time of year still--but rather we had snow on the mountaintops of the Sangre de Cristo range which we look up at to the south of town.

It began raining this afternoon just the second I left the house to walk to work. That has happened three times in the last five days. The clouds had been building for a few hours and it was getting darker and darker. I left the house to sprinkles and as I turned onto the sidewalk to head to work a bolt of lightning illuminated the sky to my right. The bone-shattering thunder followed just a second later.

It sprinkled on me the entire way to work. The wind was blowing like it was in a hurry to get somewhere fast; first, in one direction then another and then another. The wind, it seems had forgotten it's map. In the eight minute walk to work there must have been twenty dances of lightning and thunder and every one of them was a very close and intimate dance. Luckily, my toes were not stepped on.

I remember thinking, Why the hell did I bother washing my hair? Of course, this was the least of my thoughts.

The air was charged. The ground was charged. I could feel the trees and plants reacting to the barometric giddyup. There were no birds nor squirrels anywhere. Where the hell did they go? Like many of the businesses today, the flowers were all closed up.

I was only partially drenched when I got to work. There is nothing like showing up for work wet.

Five minutes later it was raining buckets, and I mean gigantic, enormous, humongous buckets! God-sized buckets. It's like God tore a big huge gash in her waterbed. It got so dark the street lights came on. Everything came to a stop. It was a deluge, a cloudburst, a gullywasher. And it was absolutely beautiful!

Anyway, it only lasted about twenty minutes and afterwards everyone went back to work. It's one of those events where all activity stops for twenty minutes. It's something that escapes no one's attention. It is one of Ma Nature's most exciting attention grabbers. Oh, and it feels so good to the body, too.

So I go on working and the rain stops and eventually the clouds move on (on their way to Kansas). The clouds also empty off the mountains. About 40 minutes later I happened to look out the window (which faces south toward the majestic Sangre de Cristo mountain range) and I see that all the clouds are off the mountain and I see that the tops of the mountains were covered with a new and seemingly thick layer of snow.

Wow! This is not a rare phenomenon. Snow on the mountains in the middle of summer usually happens once or twice or thrice each summer. It's not that unusual around here and I've witnessed it every summer for the last fourteen years yet it still manages to freak me out and fill me with joyful glee. To look at those mountains with new snow on them in July is a very special thing and I feel very privileged.

These mountains are over 14,000 ft. in altitude (sorry, I don't know how many millimeters that is). The snow appeared to be from 10,000 ft. up. The town sits at a little over 7,000 ft., which, to most people, is like being at the tippy-top of a high mountain. But we are actually at the bottom of a valley looking up 7,000 ft. at 14,000 ft. mountains. Seeing the tops of these mountains covered in snow on the Fourth of July is very special. To outsiders it's some kind of freak phenomenon but to locals it's something we look forward to experiencing each year. It's actually part of what connects us to these vibrational coordinates.

The snow, by the way, melted in about an hour and a half--which is about normal for this time of year.

Copyright © 2006, by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. Books by White Feather

Also by White Feather:
Fried Baloney Sandwiches

Imagine being a part of a symphony orchestra. You can play any instrument you want. At home, you practice for endless hours on your instrument and your part in the great symphony and then you practice with the orchestra for countless hours putting all the parts together. It is a truly grand symphony and it is technically very challenging. But your orchestra has been invited to perform the symphony in a far off city at the grandest symphony hall on the planet. It is the highest achievement to be asked to perform at this grand hall. The acoustics at this hall were said to be divinely perfect.

So you put a lot of effort into learning your part and perfecting the performance. You've heard a lot about this grand hall; about how the sound is magnified and seems to reverberate right down to the bones. Music was felt at many more levels in this grand hall than anywhere else. People left the performances in tears, feeling rejuvenated, electrified, and seriously uplifted. It was said the more beautiful the music performed there, the more it was felt at all those levels. Music, in this grand hall, was a divine act of expression that forever left a mark of beauty on the universe.

Naturally, you and your orchestra mates are very excited about getting to perform in this magnificent hall. Each of you tries harder than you ever have to get your part perfect. You look forward to the event with great anticipation and a little nervousness. It's all so overwhelming you hardly believe it's happening to you. During rehearsal of the symphony you can almost feel like you are there but nothing will be like what it feels like to actually be there in that great hall playing your heart out. You try to imagine it even though you know it will far surpass your imagination. Can something really be that grand?

You practice and practice and practice until you can feel that symphony with your every movement. You hear it in your dreams and you hear it in the back of your head even when you're surrounded by noise. It follows you around all day and night, nagging you to get it perfect; to feel it with all your being. You walk around feeling like you are a vessel through which this entity (the symphony) is wanting to pass through. And you want to be the perfect vessel through which the symphony can be expressed.

The symphony is like a child growing in one's womb. It grows and grows and grows and then finally it is expressed. The performance in the grand hall will be like a birth; the perfect expression of life, the creation of love, joy, and beauty.

In the ninth month you are excited, nervous, anxious, thrilled, scared... Then suddenly it is time to go. You get your pre-packed overnight bag and head out the door. You also pick up your instrument. Your water has already broken. You get in the car and drive to the hospital. As you get out of the car you suddenly realize you are wearing your formal performance clothes and you're carrying your instrument. You look up and you see that you are about to enter the fabulous grand symphony hall. You are filled with an incredible joy and excitement as you walk the red carpet towards the front doors. This is the biggest moment of your life. You enter the front doors, pass through the giant lobby, then you go through some more doors and suddenly you are there! You are in the grand symphony hall! It utterly takes your breath away. You stop to take it all in then you slowly walk down toward the orchestra to take your seat.

We have arrived. We are now in the grand symphony hall. It is time for us to take our seats and begin playing the most beautiful symphony of all time.

Park Bench Mojo

The solstice was absolutely fantastic for me--and quite different. This year I decided to forego all ritual and ceremony and experience the solstice in a completely passive way. I decided to surrender to the solstice, allowing it to envelope me. I wanted to feel the solstice without any thought involved. Pure feeling. That's how I wanted to connect.

At the time of the solstice I was at work and I was incredibly busy and I wasn't thinking about the solstice at all. And then suddenly as I was walking across the room it happened. I felt a little ping in my chest that waved out through my body. I lasted about two to three seconds. It was like a strange sort of electrical thing and it was followed by a feeling of lightness. It felt like a release of tension. It was a very evident change in vibration.

That's when I stopped and turned around to see the clock and it was the very time of the solstice. Now that was cool! I actually felt the solstice! That feeling of lightness has been with me ever since. For the rest of that work day I kept experiencing occasional bouts of euphoria. And I kept thinking, "Ah, the days will now be getting longer!" I proclaimed several silent hallelujahs.

That morning I had noted the sunlight coming in the kitchen window and hitting the refirgerator. It's just a thin shaft about an inch and a half wide. And it only occurs right at sunrise and lasts only about 15 minutes. That shaft will now begin widening and my kitchen will once again be filled with sunlight. By the summer solstice in June the kitchen will be ablaze with sunshine for six hours each day. It's a very different room depending on the season.

Instead of windows, someday I'd like to live in a glass house where the whole house is a window. Wouldn't that be cool?

Why Children Love Dirt

Everywhere one goes, everywhere one looks, the vibration of unconditiional love is present. One cannot escape it. It is so pervasive all things are filled with it.

Uncondiitonal love is so pervasive we don't notice it, much like we do not notice the air that we breathe. With air one does not notice it except by its absence. So we try to notice unconditional love by trying to create an absence of it, or distortion of it. Of course, unconditional love is still there but we mask it in order to become more aware of it. By pretending it is gone we realize how truly pervasive it is; how intensely and profoundly it permeates all existence. By pretending it is out of our reach, we reach for it. By pretending we are not worthy of unconditional love, we can eventually see our own divine importance. Unconditional love is so pervasive we cannot truly understand it without imagining its absence.

So I dare you to find hidden places where there is no unconditional love. I dare you to find people who are not filled with unconditional love. I dare you to find situations not filled with unconditional love. You may think you can find them but you will not. Everything you can come up with, no matter how seemingly lacking in unconditional love it appears, has unconditional love coursing through it.

Everything! At the core of every place, person, or situation there is unconditional love. If there is not, then those places, persons, or situations would not exist. Unconditional love is what enables all things to exist and therefore all things are imbued with that unconditional love. For us, it is a matter of becoming aware of that.

I Can See the Old Man

The young Indian boy is sitting at the edge of the river, huddling himself. His thin body is shuddering with a grief that is beyond measure. He can feel the weight of the past few months pressing down on him, threatening to shatter his soul. Desperately, he stares into the water, trying to remember how to calm himself with the water’s flow, but to no avail. Memories spear into his consciousness like a jagged mirror. The screaming, the smell of burning flesh, the gazeless stare of empty eyes.

How could these last few months of battling the winter be all in vain? Had he not tried his utmost to keep the last promise to his mother, to keep his sister safe? Had all the sacrifices in the mountain, the prayers to the ancestors, the cold nights without fire been for nothing? He knows that they will be looking for him, that he will receive a lashing and spend another night without food for trying to run away. His body is blue and bruised, and aching from the previous beating. ‘I don’t even care, ‘ he thinks to himself. His sister being taking away was like somebody bleeding the last drop of blood left in his body.

He remembers a happier time. Bouncing on his father’s shoulder, shouting with laughter instead of pain. ‘You lied to me!’ he shouts at the river. ‘You told me I will always be safe, that I can even walk on water if I wished…’ tears start rolling down his cheeks. ‘…if I so believed…Well, I don’t, so there you have it.’ With his last bit of strength, fuelled by anger, he rips the stone hanging from a leather chain off his neck, and throws it into the water.

To his amazement, the stone doesn’t sink. It starts bouncing off the water, bouncing higher with every jump. On the fourth bounce, the stone transforms and turns into a black eagle, with a white crescent head. It was the largest eagle the boy has ever seen. The span of the wings was as long as the span on the arms of a grown man.

The eagle went flying directly at the boy, sweeping him up with one graceful stroke of wing.

A few hours later the soldiers searched by the river looking for the boy. They found his lifeless body at the water’s edge. ‘He’s a gonner,’ the soldier said, kicking the body to make sure. However, when he looked at the boy he felt strangely disturbed. The boy, despite being dead, had the most angelic smile, and in his hand he was holding a single feather.

* * *
Anger did not leave the boy. He spent several miserable lifetimes in Europe, drowned in decadence and sorrow. Finally, after much misery, he was able to face his Higher Council. He didn’t know if he would have the strength for the task he undertook. When he was born into that chosen lifetime, it was literally kicking and screaming.

* * *
The girl that he incarnated to reminded him so much of his younger sister. He only realized that later in the lifetime. She was able to talk to fairies, and she knew how to make contact with animal spirits and beings of light, such as angels. He did not accept these gifts readily, however. Stuck like thorns in the remnants of his memories, he still angrily remembered that these gifts did not save them from being separated.

She would be the feminine energy that would ebb away the anger. Slowly and gracefully, like water moving over rocks, delicately smoothing away the rougher edges.

He would, however, not be free until he faced his darkest demon. The father he chose for that lifetime was the same soldier who led the army against his tribe, the first to rape his mother. The man’s spirit was still filled with hatred, and the boy suffered a severe childhood under his hand with drunkenness and abuse.

The boy was never able to feel any human love for the man. But, when he stood on the earth, his feet solidly planted, he could feel the love and compassion that the earth has for every living soul, permeating his body and his mind. With full knowledge of his past, including all the injustices of this life and the previous life-times, he was able to look at the man, and not only forgive, but flow with earthly and divine love. Only then was he finally set free. Light enough to walk on water.

* * *
Without thinking much, the boy walked back to the river from where he came. The eagle was still there, waiting for him. He climbed on the eagle’s back, and when they flew over the mountain, the seasons moved backwards. Winter turned to autumn, warmed into summer, and melted into spring.

It was a fragrant spring night that the eagle landed with the boy, putting him down close to the tribal village. He could see the home-fires blazing, and smell the wonderful aromas of dinner. He knew that the women of the village would have been conspiring, trying out all kinds of new roots and berries to make sauces to go with the evening meal.

He knows that when he reaches the village, one of the women will ask: ‘Where have you been, lazing around down by river? Tut, tut, time to do your chores around here.’ And then his hair will be ruffled affectionately.

Most of all, he was looking forward to after supper, when there would be singing and dancing around the fire, and when everyone will gather with their stories to be told. There will be happy stories and sad stories, stories of wisdom and stories of teaching.

He clutches the feather he is still holding in his hand. ‘That is so you could find your way home,’ the Eagle told him.

His heart swells with warmth. Tonight, he also will have a story to tell.

Unlock Your Inner Chef With Dinner From the Movie, 'Burnt'