Drawing our Line

I was having an unusually strong feeling sorry for myself day, a solo pity party, which I was still celebrating upon arrival in my woodland sanctuary this evening.  The following words were inspired by a visual message that came from the Spirit I am able to connect to out in the natural world, which is mostly devoid of those human ideas and behaviors which have manifest now a most difficult time for everyone.  Stuff that fake news isn’t ever going to gloss over.  Nature is surely not responsible for the chaos; it is Man and his predominant self-concern which has displaced the once balanced polarity on this planet: the Yin and the Yang in intertwined harmony that we have willed into a battle of light versus dark.

It is separation,  instead of perfectly set into motion creative equilibrium.  Free will, when applied in a loving selfless way is the only thing other than an exceptional free pass of Grace that can turn this phenomenal energetic boat of the human epic in a new direction that isn’t bargeing directly into the current and teeth of resistance.

Resistance to what?   I’m pretty sure we couldn’t count the volumes inspired by this question.  Here I would describe that resistance as not such a complex thing.  The whole idea to write this came as a simple illustration.

Creation is already infinitely complex, which is good given man’s propensity for boredom with even the best of things. It could be that we are a bunch of self absorbed (and therefore dysfunctional) relays in a Mandala of divine circuitry – also infinite. Being spiritually autonomous, while believing we are truly energetically independent, turns us from healthy synapses or relays into resistors.  On the physical level such blockages are normally experienced as inflammation, pain, and dis-ease. Culturally the effects are the same.

To know of the power of well being which comes with our understanding our inter-connectedness – the only way to be liberated from that toxic prison of prophylactic Self- is to see everything and everyone as an actual part of ourself, love ourself, and then do that to everything else.  Ancient fundamental recipe for successful functionality.  It may sound flowery,  but don’t let that detract you from your appreciation for the unique magic found in flowers.  Flowers can be pretty Second Chakra.

The vision which triggered this essay was pretty simple, and came as a 3D picture that was comprised of three components: a left side which in this case represented Selfless Happy Light, a line down the middle which was me (or you), and a Dark Stressed Selfishness side on the right.  Accompanying this was the thought picture and reminder that the Light is much stronger than Darkness. It takes little light to undarken a room.

It was also clear that the middle line couldn’t be separate from both sides at once, one reason being that we wouldn’t exist without our Light Source.

So if the dark right side of this picture is bigger than the left, it can mean two things.  It  could be that the trust in the light is so great that it doesn’t matter if the darkness around us seems to dominate.  Or it can mean we have allowed darkness to displace some of our own light.

I was able to visually move the shape of my middle line around. It didn’t seem to move right or left and remain a vertical line, but to bulge and bend. Either way, whenever the dark side became the dominant factor, I knew that I was out f balance.

The real message is, yes, there is a struggle between two powerful forces.  This is the clay we are given to knead into a reality.  If we trust in our own magical powers – which everyone has if they Believe it – the struggle part vanishes, at least on the personal level,  and the clay is easily crafted into our souls’ perfect art.  As modeling clay is pliable and flexible, so is our consciousness – unless we fire it too soon with fear and doubt.

The cool thing is the the whole universe belongs to each one of us.  When we all Master the art of sharing on that level, we’ll be good to go.  Namaste.

CREATION:  The manifest creation we experience here on Earth is borrowed from many dimensions which may not be visible to most.  Artists and writers receive their inspiration via diverse channels of energetic sources.  I suspect good art is always a cooperative effort, no matter how much the ego might like to take the credit.

Sometimes we are re-creating from otherwhen.  Sometimes it’s all new.   It is little appreciated the unseen inter dimensional energetic fabric – which we each create from the very center of –  and which is woven from every color in the rainbow,  every formula and equation imaginable,  every symphony ever written (or not), and every Haiku to grace a page.  This gives our human experience its range of possibilities, and which only appears to barely keep ahead of our boredom or confusion … and only allows our worst fears to kill us.

I indulged in the above drama because, like I said, I was having a crappy emotional day.  By the time I wrote this  that was no longer true.  A friend had suggested I try taking L-theamine, a stress releaser derived from green tea, which I did, and was pleasantly surprised when it felt as though some switch were flicked on -or off-  and the darkness just evaporated. This happened about an hour and a half after taking one little gel-cap.  This does not disprove that nature has a balm for everything.

I tirelessly, or tiresomely, repeat one of my favorite guidelines:  All reality is belief based, so attend to the quality of our belief.  Because then we get to spend the rest of our lives figuring out what quality means, and try living up to it without being too hard on ourselves.  An important part of that is to learn our own unique truth, which there is plenty of room for, regardless of our integration of Being with all that is.

Advertisements

The Frog Downstream

Written last night:

I got to the woods tonight, already somehow two days into not just November, but November of the year 2017, just before dark.  The nearly full moon is just rising in the East, but there is yet little illuminating benefit from its low angle through hills and tree cover.  The sky has still not given up its last breath of afterglow, lending a dramatic contrast to the overhead black cross-hatching of limb and leafy bough. It is slightly warmer this evening as the rains draw nearer, and the crickets have ratcheted up accordingly.

Another night sound, which ceases when there is no more of that afterglow, is the local squirrel.  A sassy gray squirrel (we also have pure black squirrels, which are common down in Menlo Park, but not so many around here) who makes sudden moves, and has fooled me a few times; Some of what I had thought were nearby deer crunching their hooves in the crispy leaf mulch in the dark, was this acrobatic little monkey performing some quick scratchy rattling routines in branches well above the ground.

I’ve watched him or her – I haven’t asked – scitter up trunks, narrow branches, and through thin air to another twiggy trapeze, without making any sound, except when the leaves shake and rattle during the part when Rocky ( a name I completely made up), knows where he’s headed but isn’t actually attached to anything tangible.

It was sort of touching to me that the the chicken (which is well known for its empathy) crossed the road…. to demonstrate to the squirrel that it is a possibility.  Rocky does not have to worry about cars here, although he shouldn’t get too cocky around Great Horned Owls.

Then just at dark there was a brief but captivating exchange between two very different sounding wood pigeons.  One quite owl like, and the other more of a warbler.

The first night music I heard upon arrival at my sentry post was a sole Pacific Tree Frog, which offered its raspy ribbit a half dozen times, each ripping rift bringing a broader smile to my face and a tingle to my core.  This was to my right, facing down the pool pocked non-flowing rocky still water creek  -( but for the smooth skating fragile looking water striders), where this lone croaker, no more than an inch and a half long, reminded me of the spring time ear splitting  symphonic festivals in our back yard pond.

This was a most welcome solo, with each bigger than life chirrup of amphibious ardor more creative and heartwarming than the last.

By the time I left, the moon was high, its broadly stippled glow upon the ground an animate topography of its very own,  and the thickening  clouds of impending rain drawing a translucent quilted gauze over it all.

Is There SOMETHING We Have to DO?

This title was offered up one evening just after dark, somewhere in the 20 or so feet of distance between Hari the twin trunked Oak seat, and Guindemere the 7 – 9 trunked (depending on where you are standing) Bay, … I was going to first use the word “separate” instead of “distance in between”, but there is a big difference.  There is nothing that separates the two other than physicality.

I can imagine that beneath the spongey leafy mat and the rocky clay dirt – with but a fragile veneer of humus between the leaves and sere soil – the roots of these two quite genetically different members of The Council of Trees touch in points of recognition, but do not graft together.

I thought a brief re-introduction of some of the cast of arboreal actors playing their diverse and sacred roles on behalf of me and Mankind would add helpful  perspective on what is influencing my writing.  While Edenlight the Garden no longer exists in a delineated 1.11 acre co-created paradise, EdenlightGarden the Spirit of Love, Color, Nature, and Cosmic Healing,  dwells ubiquitously upon our planet.  Edenlight herself might be found any place her mother Iris is present, with me, or wherever she is called.  She is a Rainbow Light Being, and a willing Healer.  She stands in The Circle with Kwan Yin, Isis, Devi, Maria, Iris, Tara, and countless lesser known Devas of love based creation. She is the youngest.

So I was somewhere between Hari, who I think of as the Thinking Tree, because it is where I comfortably sit and am filled with things to write about, and Guindemere, where I have been observing and abetting the architectural efforts of a Wood Rat – less endearing to many, but no less noble than a Wood Pigeon.  I discovered it the previous night when it was windy, my fingers achey cold, and I went to sit back inside a hollow of its ring of trunks to get warmer. There I found my little nook was displaced by a neatly stacked lean-to of dry sticks and twigs, buttressed by  an apron of that humus I mentioned.

My reaction rather than disappointment was a silent laugh and a smile.  I’ve seen wood rat homes the size of three shopping carts down near China Camp in San Rafael. They remind you of small beaver mounds, but mostly sticks, and you wonder how the  industrious little rodent achieves this, considering the size of some of the branches used.  But The Wood Rat is a whole other post.

While standing at chest level next to the nearest leaning Bay trunk angling toward Hari, I embraced this moss clad arm of Guindemere, and heard very clearly the words: ” Why do you think you always have to DO something?”

Not unfamiliar with these inner natural communications, I immediately understood what it meant.  So much of our life (all of it) is an etheric – elemental  construction, and all too often a fear – driven illusion.  What it said to me was not that we should avoid life, but to avoid attachments of fear or lack based dependency.  To avoid all the stress by trusting the magically divine multiverse (the invisible to the biological eye etheric part behind all belief based reality), rather than Believing in and therefore being victimized by the rat race most heavily promoted on this curious planet.  I just noticed I used the word Rat again.

But that’s OK.  I don’t have to DO anything about the rat, who I have not met, but named Merlin.

So if we don’t have to do anything, what do we have to do?  Perhaps we have to give Do a broader range of meaning  (or perhaps a more limited range of focus) to include: living only in the moment and having faith in our own internal innately magical not yet understood DNA.

We are designed to manifest with our minds.  We all do it.  A negative state of mind quite efficiently manifests a negative personal and collective universe. Most of us manifest what we think we want slowly because of uncertainty and the belief  that we have to Do something. And then we believe we didn’t Do enough, especially if we didn’t get what we thought we needed.  Anyway it is supposed to be much easier, and Shall be when we finally slither out of that cosmic prophylactic we call Self and its attendant limiting concerns.

We would do well to have faith in an exceptionally allowing and benevolent multi-dimensional Plan, or creative process, that works flawlessly when applied with love and non-judgement. I think this non-judgement caveat works best when we include ourselves first.  Then whether it’s you or someone who does judge ( this can be about virtually Anything), regardless of the subject, you can spot it right away as fake news.

Not sure what to do to finish this post, I

More Moonwalking

Tonight made three consecutive walks to the woods following my full size shadow, neither taller nor shorter.  I didn’t keep track of the times, though I’m sure I left at least a half hour later each night for the moon’s angle to be the same.  The moon rather famously “rises’ later every night, and once full comes up quite late as it wanes through the shrinking third and fourth quarters.  At this writing we are about two days into the second quarter phase, which looks to be 2/3 full.  Since we can only ever see half the moon (about 53% over a year’s time) this is really 1/3 of the moons total surface.  It’s nice to know the Man in the Moon never turns his back on us.

Anyway it’s much brighter out, with no cloud cover.  Two nights ago I let my phone battery die before heading home, and had to slow step my way down the near side, into the water pocked stony stream bed, up the other bank, and then out of the woods by broken moonlight.  This was achieved maybe 15% visually ( I was generally familiar with where I was, but the shadows were dominant and deep), 40% tactilely with the feet, and 45% memory.  I suspect my feet themselves may have memory.

Two nights later:

Our brightening friend in the night sky approaches the end of its second quarter, better known as The Full Moon, not quite in time to fully spice up Halloween.  It looks as though this lunar event may coincide with the end of Indian summer, as the rain portal is expected to open.  This is not inappropriate as the moon is a Water sign.

Already the nights are enough colder that the cricket decibels have dropped by near half, and I need gloves.  If I hear one good bird recital per night I’m pretty happy. Tonight I’ve only heard one double hoo – hoo of a Great Horned Owl, and as I was writing, one of those exotic sounding mystery birds let loose with a high haunting ululation.  Last night at dusk I enjoyed a longer concert of the enchanting range of low to medium warbles and hoots of the reclusive Wood Pigeon. A beautiful sort of haunting.

Especially when you already know that you are not only surrounded by, but embraced by, a community of trees, understory flora and wildlife, rock and stream (Mt. Burdell is rich in milky quartz), with all of their’s and infinite caring Spirit.

Throw in those humans you love and wish the best for, friends you didn’t know you had, and life has every prospect of being golden.

The CROSS

I have a whole range of relationships with this simple intersections of two lines; the shorter Yin horizontal part crossing between a fourth and a third of the way down the taller Yang vertical member.  It take less of the Maternal softness of Yin to balance the generally physically and energetically “stronger” and more aggressive Yang.  So it is an ancient symbol of just perfect balance of male and female, Mayle and Phemale, Yin and Yang.

It will be nice when all religions recognize the validity of all the others at their core;  of our Oneness in a common Source, and allow all to love their sense and connection to their idea of God, without the strident editing of human ego.  Any religion that stops short of nurturing any form of judgement toward different ways of loving Creation has at least one good paddle in the water.

The Christian cross, borne as a shape of a form of execution, is the old sacred symbol for balance in the realm here which makes our physical existence possible. For Jesus to have experienced a physical death on such a fateful, almost character-like glyph, communicates almost as if it were the first letter (t), or perhaps the second one, after “I”; before written language.

If you are wondering (or not) how I feel about Jesus I will say this:  I love Him like no other, and He has no problem with the near infinite loving Beings I Also love.  I feel we  share a common agenda, and while He is my primary guide, there are many others who share my full love and appreciation.  Jesus, who I believe would have it no other way as that’s all He came to teach, is not the only O’dm Consciousness (the consciousness that understands we all share one Heart) to have come to me in times of real need. There is however nothing quite like clearly hearing when you needed it the most: “I will take care of you……You’re going to be just fine……I am with you always.” Though it reminded me of something I may have read once or twice, it was audible and real.

I don’t visualize Jesus on a cross, but have no problem seeing a cross as an opportunity to unite worlds rather than divide them, and to heal ( if not being forced down a throat).  They can be beautifully decorated.

The first cross I ever created or embellished  was a grafted oak root from a landscape job that my crew brought to me from a trench they were digging. Two crossing roots had grown together both physically and metaphorically. “Coincidentally”, several minutes earlier I had wrenched my lower back unloading something heavy, and could barely move. I was sitting in my truck feeling miserable when I was handed the rustic dirty piece of crossing roots by the foreman who knew I collected natural curiosities.

Almost unthinkingly I placed it upside down behind me in the small of my back with the bulging cross piece facing me with a kind of comforting pressure where I was hurting.  I sat that way for about ten minutes in a state of very little thinking. Then I got out of the truck and went back to work, with not so much as a residual twinge.

This healing experience was revelatory for me, and this piece of root was the first of several crosses I would fabricate and decorate in the years since, using gems and paint to channel those dimensions that would have us ALL be well.

Compassion and Suffering

Please don’t think I’m trying to lead anyone to believe that my observations and philosophy are the bottom line on a whole topic.  I would like to say except maybe the power of love, and instantly realized even That has  its infinite sources within the entire Cosmos of Source.  What I feel I know today, I may easily -or not- know differently tomorrow.

Few would disagree that both Earth and Humanity are suffering.  Suffering has been the top non-elective offered by a long learning paradigm we are now coming to the end of, if ancient predictions play out. Alternate connective consciousness has always been available, but not encouraged by the agendas that would not profit from our collective liberation.

So suffering may be at an all time high, just given the global populace alone. I’m not best qualified to comment on how politics exacerbates this, but anyone paying attention knows we are not in good hands in that department. if one’s agenda is fear and selfishness based, then perhaps there is a short term appeasement of that to be enjoyed by few or many.   If you need an aerial view of choked freeways and giant mall parking lots crammed to the edges, to get a tiny perspective of how many of us there really are, you probably won’t be much better at picturing how this probably incalculable mass and variety, and the staggering economics of it all; get their real and perceived needs, from the points of origin to the 7 or 8 billion embodied souls which includes us.  It’s pretty impressive we haven’t imploded already.

Which brings me to the Compassion part.  This is less familiar to a lot of people. I sometimes think of compassion as the leading edge, feet on the ground, aspect of Grace.  It would be arrogance to assume we’ve survived as a race because we “deserve” it.  That kind of a sense of entitlement is what makes suffering our default karmic influence.

Let’s just say there is such a thing as Divine Grace.  Considering how we behave – those patterns which create the history of our race – not just now, but after millennia of  painful lessons which we merrily repeat, The Divine would Have to be compassionate to not have already vaporized us and turned to another corner of The Cosmos to try imparting divine non-selfish consciousness into a sentient race some other way.  We are in fact expected to learn and practice compassion from our own divine cores.  It’s in us if we look there and not in the mirrors of our ego.

I may have gotten a little carried away there.  Or maybe not.  So how about trying to figure out how to get ourselves, and then more and more people, to practice open minds and hearts right here on Earth?  The long standing offer has evidently not been withdrawn, as demonstrated by our continued existence.  I know I have received my share of divine help in both Spirit and Human form.  I believe that if we can learn to surrender the fear based attachments which have chokeholds on us, we will have more space to hold and generate compassion.  Our 12 strands of DNA contain everything we need to pull this off and contaminate the entire multiverse with love, compassion and infinite well being.

We all need one another, and if we are able to help others, it seems like something far more than just a good idea.  I gave something recently to help a fire victim, and I try not to say this entirely out of pride because I barely know the man, but didn’t hesitate to write a check.  He lost his house and everything in it and is by common standards not at all wealthy.  It feels like I contributed a drop of water into an ocean with much of its bottom showing.

I’m afraid that had I been confronted with any kind of a list of irrefutable human, animal, or environmental need, let alone the unimaginably vast list that Does exist, I may not have acted at all.

I couldn’t figure out how to end this piece until I came up with:  All the suffering is like a perfect Petri dish for cultivating compassion.  Gee, I hope this isn’t delusional wishful thinking.

If enough people were to believe that the purpose of all suffering was to instigate enough compassion to “go viral” that’s what would happen. Mass compassion has to be stronger than mass fear and selfishness. I completely believe the Archangel Gabriel who consistently teaches that ALL reality is belief based.

 

MOONWAX

The sun is diving South, in the direction of winter. We are having  that perfection of atmospheric effect called Indian Summer. I don’t know how the name originated but it has a sacred feel to it and I hope we get to keep calling it that.

Leaves that don’t intend to hang around through winter are going out in their butters and browns, oranges, vermilions, and brilliant scarlets. Yes, there are carmines and russets as well. There is the seasons’s end flurry of small butterflies, young and old fence lizards scurrying everywhere and stopping to look at you, renewed enthusiasm in the nightly cricket symphonic choral group, and a temperature you just about don’t notice. The moon looks to be a day or two from the first quarter. It appears in the afternoon sky, and is still visible through the tree canopy later each evening.

Having started my walk a little earlier this late day, I was on a fairly high shoulder of Mt. Burdell when the sun went down, and it was time for me to do the same. Moonlight was very helpful on the open grassy knoll where I had watched our favorite star slip behind our north-west Marin hills  just to the right (west) of a much emptier Stafford Lake than I remember a week or two ago. I wondered if Stafford water was used to fight the wild fires.

Down in the trees, I passed through an upper band of Black Oak ( which the state once officially tried to exterminate as a “weed tree”, even though it was the favorite source of acorns for Native Americans and wildlife both, and is now understood to be a vital part of our ecosystem) and which are nicely spaced on a park like slope, the moonlight still usefully showed me the way. Then descending into this denser, predominantly Bay laurel side of the canyon, in spite of the now dimmer broken moonlight on the slick  ramp, I found pretty quickly that I had to trust my feet and legs, and not worry about aggravating the Baker’s cyst behind my left knee.

It is the first time I can remember literally skiing down the leaf lubricated difficult to see angle of decline at a nice comfortable speed in my work boots. I could see trees. It was just the exact shape and details of the ground for which my eyes weren’t much help. In the daytime I’m generally more cautious than that, placing my feet a step at time. But this was fun, especially as trying to stop wasn’t a simple option. An actual skier or skater observing my daredevil descent would likely have said something like,  “Yes, I was quite able to perceive that he was actually moving. Having stationary trees as reference points was very useful…”

Anyway, I think I had better relish these perfect evenings while they are still warm and dry. Or cold and dry. Or cold and wet. Rain is wonderful.

 

THE NEXT EVENING…

Leaving home as the nearly half shaped first quarter moon  was directly behind me in the star filled sky at about a 45 degree angle, I got to follow my life size shadow darkening the open meadow dirt foot path for at least a quarter mile before it was absorbed by the tree shade at the edge of the woods.

It is a warm/cool muggy night, evidently appealing to the crickets as their strident pulse of collective chirps (thank goodness they don’t tweet) is especially rich. There is no breeze and the distant sounds of the folks these perfect atmospheric conditions bring out of doors carry almost as well as on a still, colder, night.

It is 7:15 PM, and from where I am writing , sitting in the lap of my luxurious Oak friend and mentor, Hari, the opposite grassy hill – the parts I can see through the ranks of trees – glow more brightly each night now in the reflection of Luna.

Even the deer I am now fond of hearing milling about, while not visible, seem more active than usual. They surely know I’m here were it only for the glow of my phone as I inscribe my thoughts.

I can hear a neighbor nearly half a mile away calling for her cat, Vinnie, which she was doing before I left the house. I understand Vinnie is friendly and tends to follow walkers passing through the Open Space easement which separates our houses, though Vinnie and his family live across the creek and several houses down.  Maryanne spends a fair amount of time looking for, or calling for, Vinnie, who I haven’t yet met in person, or is it catson? But I am quite clear on his name.

A half hour later human sounds no longer reached my enclave in the woods. The white noise of nature itself is transcendental. Thoreau surely knew this. Ten or so minutes ago a repartee between two not identified warbling birds – if you can imagine  a dialogue of lilting, trilling, not quite hoots – in the near distant canopy, was an agreeable duet amongst the overlapping and intersecting waves of the orchestral crickets.

This was time spent without the near blinding glare of the phone screen, which even at low brightness takes more than a few minutes for the retinas to recover from the abnormally bright point of focus. At full intensity you can forget about recovering night vision for a long time.

As the eyes adjust to to the lumens from the nearly perfect half sphere of the moon, and Hari provides a comfortable seat which presents my back through the V of the dual yin and yang trunks which support it, there emerges before me a chiaroscuro fairyland tableau. Black interrupted by swaths of seemingly other dimensional moonlight. It is like streaks of softly lit lily pads dappled about the receding woodland floor,  down the bank before me and up the other side.

Beyond this are the broken views of the moonlit grassy hillside which leads up to a rim of deep green live oaks above which is a whole mountain shoulder of almost blackish green (in full daylight) chaparral. It is mostly chamise, but I can’t see any of that.

The lights I see are arranged as divided by the now long shadows of tree trunks which stand at diverse angles to the sloping terrain.

As my eyes continue to adjust from no phone screen, the patches of light take on life. The moon is also “moving” as the Earth thankfully continues to have a nice spin. This is not fake news, for which we could probably feel and show more gratitude. There is the faintest breeze as the night is cooling, which moves the shapes of the patches of moon sky in the tree tops – the source of the light on the forest floor.

The ground light may appear to glow in varying intensity, to dance, pulse, take on form, and just be generally enchanting. I’m trying to think of a way to compare it with watching TV, but the words don’t come.

CROSSING the CREEK

The past two nights I have disturbed deer drinking from pockets of water where I climb down to cross the rocky creek bed. I try not to scare them, but they scramble up the opposite higher bank and then don’t go far. I have found both bucks and does when first coming upon them and get a glimpse of them leaping up and out of sight. It’s too late in the season for spotted Bambis.

That is the side of the land, divided by uncountable years of erosion creating a deep cut of soil, roots, and rocks, where I have established the heart of my evolving interface with not just trees and wildlife, but all benevolent Spirit. When the trees first told me they would show me things I’d never seen they weren’t just placating me with a pleasant prediction. It doesn’t hurt that I actually completely believed them. And it doesn’t have to be in this one Grove of Consciousness. That’s the whole point.

Until I get seated and settled in the darkness where the only illumination I can see is the mottled New Moon-lit sky through the high ceiling of what might as well be black foliage, I am navigating with my phone light just like Daniel Boone.

One non-visual highlight of the darkness, once I am quiet and blind, is the slow crackling of dry Bay leaves from deer that are either standing sometimes only several feet away, passing behind or in front of my living Live Oak seat, or milling about almost any direction within earshot. They surely sense that I am a hunter, but only for truth and beauty.

In time they all move off down hill ( in a month or two it will be down Stream), where more pools are to be found in the creek bed edged by some truly respectable multi-trunked, bulging root crowned, gnarly exposed rooted Bay laurels, leaving ( between interruptions of loud muffled vehicles a quarter to a half mile away) only the the soothingly textured pulse of the life celebration of countless crickets all above me and everywhere within and around the darkened cathedral.

EarthRise UPdates

When asked how things are going up at EarthRise, the answer itself is in a state of evolution, for a variety of reasons.  Not long after I was invited up, with art, rocks, boulders, soil and plants, and made to feel welcome, EarthRise/IONS underwent a serious internal reorganization. Approximately half the staff was working out of rented space on the wharf in Petaluma. This was the science part, the actual Institute of Noetic Sciences, founded by Edgar Mitchell, the 9th Moonwalker on Apollo XIV. Noetics is in a nutshell the Science of Knowing. This is the vast labyrinth of the potential of human consciousness and experience that IONS investigates. Edgar saw the Oneness of everything from the “luxury” of Space, and acquired the amazing  natural wild land with an infrastructure of buildings and dorms that had once been the campus of World College West.

In turn, the 197 acre earthRise Retreat Center up in the hills straddling Marin and Sonoma Counties is now the primary source of income for both the Science AND the Retreat Center, along with essential donations. It rightly boasts a world class kitchen and dining facility – which is good, for they attract healthy food conscious guests.

To make room for the entire science and support staff, several paying tenant organizations had to be asked to leave. To my not great surprise, the moving and rearrangement did not focus on my artistic urges for some time now.

Months ago I had installed some of Edenlight’s heaviest and most daunting to move stone works. Enclaves of hundred of potted plants are arranged in aisles outside the caretakers’ cottages. On a lower unused parking lot are many pallets of columns, boulders, panels, slabs and 20 or 30 cubic yards of Edenlight’s soil.

To not give more than a mention as to how gracious the administration and staff at ER have been to me might actually be criminal. They feel like a new extended family, where a smile goes a long way. The Director, Deb Johnsonn, made this possible when she discovered my Edenlight Garden closing on Craig’s List. At the time it felt like Divine Intervention, and I’ve no reason to rethink that.

So with that miraculous solution out of the way , and some small portion of my sanity thus preserved, I next had to learn that I was no longer the near autonomous (except for the not owning the land part) Lone Ranger at Edenlight.  I jumped in fast of necessity, which they kindly acknowledge.  Now there is an established process of communication, which has both required and allowed me to detach from a few old standby traits of independence. If I could survive the nightmare loss of Edenlight Garden, surely I can learn to cooperate with people who have been there long before me, and just be happy I’m There.

Of late, all I’ve done is water the plants, and several times recently in heavy smoke from the holocaust of wildfires which graciously did not visit this piece of our world.   I am thinking that my next art endeavor will be to repair the moving damage to the aqua aventurine quartzite Heavens Grounding Triangle which greets people at the top of EarthRises’s long climbing entry drive. The top portion cracked off when it slipped off the fork lift ( saw it happen and was still able to keep breathing), and there are numerous gems and crystals which need re-affixing.

More Woods Notes (revised)

IMG_2528None of us are truly fit to save anything in this or any world until we awaken into the Self Love that is the only functional reflection of our common Source, which is not only a Being of Love, but its very Essence.

When we each learn and understand ourself to be a beautiful flower of this Earth, no less so than an orchid, or rose, or thistle, and better yet: behave with equal non-aggressive, nonjudgmental dignity, grace, and presence, then this garden, where Eden awaits more patiently than ourSelves, shall awaken with us.

We are all spinning in some sort of maelstrom as the planet prepares to send us through this traumatic vortex to a lighter and brighter paradigm. Grab onto the sweetest ropes you can;  your family,  friends, pets,  the infinite panoply of the natural world,  your creativity,  and most importantly your own indwelling divine nature.  These are our true life preservers which shall see us through this storm before the calm.