31 March 2009

My Version of the Myth

In the book, The Elements of the Goddess, author Caitlin Matthews at the end of the first chapter challenges readers, "Why don't you stop reading right now and write a version of the myth, pretending you are a person living several hundreds or thousands of years from now. Write it from your own current perception of the Goddess, even if you don't yet intellectually know who She is."

I read this passage several months ago, and it has laid in the back of my mind like a tapestry neatly covering an old table. I dared myself to propel further in the book and felt guilty for moving into the next few chapters before accomplishing the author's challenge. As life would have it, something, probably another book, distracted me from The Elements of the Goddess book. And as life would have it, the completion of yet a different book has sparked me to lift the tapestry and give attention to the old table beneath it.

In Philip Pullman's acknowledgments, at the end of his Dark Materials trilogy, he fully admits to stealing ideas from every book he has ever read. I want to openly thank him now for making this statement as I steal from him the inspiration (and a few reworded sentences) to begin the task of re-birthing and reuniting kindred energies. For I don't believe solely in God or Goddess. I believe that both energies must be equally balanced.

For thousands of years, humans' energies dominated Earth. By manipulating and distorting the masculine principle and trying to smother feminine energy, they wreaked destruction and mistrust while exhibiting firm control through fear, distractions and misinformation. Masculine dominance displayed and wasted much energy in creating a submissive, ignorant and weak society through centuries of emotional and physical abuse. A fear of feminine energy and power as well as the gluttonous desire for ownership, motivated humans greed, power and control.

It began as it always begins with a few in control of many. Some didn't bother to hide their control and openly held slaves or practiced societal and gender hierarchies by claiming the Gods had given the authority to the few. Some leaders were more just than others, but the majority were not. As injustices mounted, revolts and revolutions arose. The few in control soon realized that a new means of control needed to arise.

A few great and wise humans infused with divine knowledge walk and have walked this planet. At birth and as they age, unlike the majority of humans who forget, these extraordinary humans remember true wisdom. These remarkable souls radiate. Some have challenged authority as they encourage other humans to open their senses and intuition. Often, in the past, the authority who was in complete control without accountability, killed these blessed souls without tribulation.

These blessed souls, though, opened doors and new schools of thought. Bloodbaths abounded as authority tried to regain control. What eventually happened was a few good thoughts, ideas and customs of these blessed souls meshed with other traditions were brought to the forefront...just enough to appease the masses and meld societal and religious differences. Oral traditions were inscribed, manipulated and distorted and after several centuries of fighting, violence and murder, a moral tradition was born based on strictly masculine power depicting a stern Father as the One authority.

Whether inspired by true faith or true fear, many people followed the new moral tradition, and those who didn't, paid with their lives. Those who would not conform, hid or disguised themselves practicing one tradition in public, but practicing, in private, their own sets of beliefs. Because these secret teachings had to remain hidden or many carriers of the true oral tradition were killed, much wisdom was lost.

As in the past through rebellion and revolution, once recognized, humans continued quenching the thirst for justice. A few brave people called for accountability from leaders and as their cause gained momentum, it became harder for authorities to simply kill or murder anyone who stood against them.

But through the years while these battles enraged, much was lost and great destruction came to the planet.

Wisdom, though, had a way of keeping alive by whispering truth to genuine seekers, revealing shimmers to honest seers, and delicately moving through the cracks of time. And when it was safe again, Wisdom began to emerge.

Wisdom survived in many subtle ways...in the scent of a flower; the sweet taste of honey; the movement of the Earth; the changing of the seasons; the song of a bird; a soft breeze rustling the leaves; the trickle of a creek...she whispered, "Remember. Remember. Remember." Whether conscious or not, humans remembered Wisdom every time they worked the Earth to plant a seed or carried out a spontaneous kind gesture. Wisdom endured each time a child suckled its mother's breast or a woman toiled through the labor of a child's birth. Through art, music, storytelling and writing, Wisdom gained momentum. Wisdom grew stronger as humans acquired the freedom to express and share their experiences.

Once humans were reintroduced to the concept of feminine divine energy, whether they believed in it or not, a little something, like the tiniest of seeds, settled in the deepest crook of their minds. While some graciously nourished this feminine energy, others ignored it, fought it or denied it. But once Her feminine energies were sowed, her energy grew. And even those who refused to accept Her, couldn't help but awaken as well because the energy encompassed everything beautiful and gentle and loving in the world.

As natural as a gentle stream coursing with the terrain, attitudes and behaviors changed. Instead of a few individuals here and there making small changes, a mass dawning occurred and humans let go of trying to control everything, including the Spirit. It was scary at first and many people fought hard to keep control of an unsustainable way of life crying out, "What will happen to us?"

But like the explosion of Spring flowers, healing ensued, generosity flourished, poverty and suffering disappeared. And nature reclaimed Herself. As this happened across the planet, humans found what had been missing and what had been taught away from them. Humans remembered how to thrive in harmony with the planet, to coexist in unity with each other and to live one with both natures as the Divine energies ebbed and flowed freely once more.

Probably to be continued...

Spoiler Alert - The Amber Spyglass

If you haven't read The Amber Spyglass by Philip Pullman, but plan to, then I recommend that you skip reading this entry. I plan on reflecting what struck me most about this book, and the deepest meanings, observations and questions come at the end of the book. So, unless you are prepared to have the mystery spoiled, then avert your eyes now. If you haven't read the books, this passage may be confusing. It is intended for people who have completed the trilogy.

The Amber Spyglass is the third book of Philip Pullman's trilogy entitled His Dark Materials. There is much that I didn't like about the book and namely how uncomfortable it feels through out the story. If this was Pullman's aim, then he did an amazing job. At times, the book feels sickly with its industrial descriptions and grotesque creations. Pullman takes on the Authority, not God as I know God, but God as an angel that took control and leads the church astray. He creates abnormalities which seem abominations to nature that created ill feelings within me.

I can see why church enthusiasts hate his books. It does seem that Pullman is out to kill God, but those of us who follow a different flow of the Creators, his books are masterful.

I'm not going to rehash the book. I don't even want to expand or unfold the story to explain the two points that stood out the most for me. I will try to expand my personal views without retelling the story, so this passage may seem a bit choppy.

Towards the end of the book one of the characters states: "...all the history of human life has been a struggle between wisdom and stupidity...the followers of wisdom, have always tried to open minds; the Authority and his churches have always tried to keep them closed...And for most of that time, wisdom has had to work in secret, whispering her words, moving like a spy through the humble places of the world while the courts and palaces are occupied by her enemies."

This describes the world now. The world is at a pivotal point. I feel exactly that her wisdom is whispered to us as feminine energies grow, reclaim and restore this Earth. I know now, more than ever, the importance of quietness and listening and trusting what is true in my heart which is restoring our Earth and celebrating an energy that has remained hidden, yet that has not been destroyed.

The second point which conjures curiosity is the concept of atoms. Two characters, at the end of the book, describe: "I will love you forever, whatever happens. Till I die and after I die, and when I find my way out of the land of the dead, I'll drift about forever, all my atoms, till I fond you again...And when we do find each other again, we'll cling together so tight that nothing and no one'll ever tear us apart. Every atom of me and every atom of you...And when they use our atoms to make new lives, they won't just be able to take one, they'll have to take two, one of you and one of me, we'll be joined so tight..."

After reading this passage, I immediately thought "nuclear" bombs and energy which derives its power from splitting atoms. What if the energy derived from splitting these atoms comes from love? We know that nuclear energy is dangerous. We know the horrific effects of a nuclear bomb. What if, in splitting atoms, we are splitting souls?

In Pullman's first book, The Golden Compass, the author addresses the energy derived by severing a human soul from its daemon (Spirit). In The Amber Spyglass the author painstakingly finds a means for humans to reunite with their Spirits after death...their atoms are able to reconnect. What if nuclear power is creating a new World of the Dead? Or does everlasting life still exist because after being severed through nuclear fission, we travel again through the World of the Dead?

To pass through the World of the Dead, we must tell true stories of our lives on Earth. If we have no stories, we remain in nothingness and are not reborn into paradise and reunited with all Oneness. If we successfully pass through the land of the dead, we are reborn, so to speak. Our atoms become one with all the World creating new life through nature. Nuclear fission, at this point, is derived from plutonium, which is a natural source and atom rich (I guess...is it the gold of rebirth?). Does nature have memory? When those atoms are split, is there memory of life as plutonium? Is there wisdom or knowledge? Is there a story to tell? Or is there nothing?

When plutonium runs out, what are scientists going to split next?

Yes, these thoughts arise from a fictional book, but as Pullman states through his characters, "...wisdom has had to work in secret, whispering her words, moving like a spy through the humble places of the world..."

25 March 2009

Vacation Blues

Whew. Vacation is really great. I love vacation. I haven't quite found the balance though between writing and vacation. I don't consider writing a chore or "work". I truly love it so it's not that I feel that I need to take a vacation from writing. I would really like to learn how to balance the two.

If you read an earlier post of mine, you know that we all headed south to sunny Florida where I grew up to visit my parents. And if you read my past post, Back in the Swamp, you may get a sense of how much I love Florida.

On the way home about an hour into the swamp, we found a classic rock radio station. Classic rock just goes better in Florida maybe because I was a kid running around barefooted and full of imagination when all that classic rock wasn't so classic.

There's something about hearing songs by Grand Funk Railroad, ELO, Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, The Guess Who, Tom Petty, Stevie Ray Vaughan, etc. that elicits feelings of freedom and wild abandonment in me. At the time these artists were creating some of their best stuff, I was a kid, so I wasn't into drugs. I know now as an adult that drugs were a staple for listening to music like this. Having experimented with drugs mostly in my college years in Florida and listening to classic rock, I know what feelings this music evokes. When I hear this genre of classic rock, I am eleven years old again mixed with those drug induced college years. And it's fucking great. I forget that. I forget how great classic rock music is, how great Florida is and when you mix the two with a margarita and a sunset...you get a Jimmy Buffet song.

It's no wonder that as we exited the swamp and Grand Funk Railroad's, "Closer to My Home" played that tears streaked my face. I felt the magic of my home behind me as we rushed at 75 mph heading north on I75. And Florida is magic for me.

The nature of Florida is so completely lazy with Her transitional forests of oak, pine and palmetto. I love being out on the river swimming in Her clear cold water or watching the manatees. I love paddling out to the brackish marsh to see bald eagles soaring, ospreys suspiciously watching, and great blue herons nesting. Some areas, like the narrow Alligator Alley during low tide when water levels sit lower than the reed covered banks, illicit feelings of vulnerability as I sit in my kayak in nothing but a flimsy swimsuit wondering if a gator will be sunning itself on the bank around the next bend in the river. I feel a rush similar to the anxiety that you feel before cresting the first hill of a roller coaster.

Most of my cell memory, in this lifetime, still holds Florida as home. I lived in Florida longer than I have been gone from Florida. I'll be fifty-four years old before the time is equal for years lived in Florida and years not lived in Florida. By the time I'm fifty-five, maybe the scales will tilt towards Tennessee or where ever I end up, but I doubt it. Until then though, I can fairly continue to call Florida home and cry when I leave Her.

Buffalo Bleu

There aren't many things in this life that I crave. I have developed a fair share of discipline and will power through the years, but this warrior definitely has a weakness. Potato chips. And not just any old chip will do. My favorite potato chips in the world are the Kettle chips. The first time I tasted the salt and pepper chip, I never looked at another brand. That was about five or so years ago.

If there were more flavors back then, I don't know because five or so years ago, our local food co-op carried only two or three flavors. Granted, now they have most of the flavors, and I thought that I had tried them all.

I was at the, gulp...I hate to say it, Kroger big chain grocery store to buy something for my son who is ill. Since Kroger has some of the same foods that our food co-op carries, I decided to take advantage of making only one stop and picking up a few things that were also on my co-op list.

Chips topped the list. Imagine my surprise when I saw a new flavor in my favorite Kettle Chips. I usually am not a flavor potato chip kind of girl. I really like them simple with light salt or my favorite of all, salt and pepper. The flavors don't really woo me, but every once in a while, I enjoy a tasty flavored potato chip.

The new flavor, Buffalo Bleu, sounded interesting. The concept is a spicy buffalo wing type flavor with a hint of bleu cheese. "Okay, I'll bite," I thought.

Yum. Saliva builds in my mouth as I hold my first Buffalo Bleu chip in my hands. My mouth gets juicier as I bring it past my lips and crunch down on it. Crunch. Crunch. Hmm? Crunch. Crunch. Hmm?

Nope. Don't like it. There's just too much stuff going on. The flavors are good with a tangy and "brazen" spiciness and hint of bleu cheese, but the flavors would be better if they were separated. First of all, the flavor powders cover the chip so you can't even see the chip. The only reason I'm sure the chip was there was due to the characteristic crunch of a Kettle chip.

Second, there's just too much shit on the chips. The company would have been better off putting the spicy chips in one pile and the bleu cheese chips in another pile and mixing the two pile together in the same bag.

There is no third except to say that there's too much crap on the Buffalo Bleu chips. I don't like 'em. I hope you read this and believe me and spend your three dollars on the classic salt and pepper.

Even though I didn't care for the chip, I ate a few more to make sure. Yup, me no like Buffalo Bleu. But that's okay. My husband will. And I'll remember for a few months not to stray from the classics.

16 March 2009

Back in the Swamp

My dad always said to me, "Once you get the sand in your toes, you'll never get it out." He was referring to living in Florida and never getting Florida out of my system.

I grew up in Florida and moved away at the age of 28. I didn't go far and ended up in Knoxville, Tennessee in 1996. East Tennessee is home now, but Florida resonates something deeper in me that East Tennessee won't ever fill despite it's peace and beauty.

As my feet sink into the warm white sand and I wiggle the sand in between my toes, I feel home. Dad talked about the sand in my toes, but what stirs my blood is the scent of the air. The swamp mixed with the salt air triggers a sense of timelessness. In the right environment, I , mentally, travel to older times before the Spanish arrived here. When out on the river in the kayak paddling through the transitional forests or out in the saw grass flats, I sense the native spirits and imagine that the air smells the same now as it did then. I connect with an ancient Florida as I watch the pelicans skim the water. A deep peace settles over me, and I feel an ache to be here forever.

And Dad is right in a way. The sand in my toes feels home, but the smell af the air is truly home.

13 March 2009

Exiting the Closet

Howdy. I have been crappy this week with the time change and this lingering migraine/sinus thing. I hate when I haven't been writing. Of course, if I were to cultivate them, I probably have enough writings stashed away to last till my hundredth year.

I have been reading though. I plugged through The Golden Compass quite quickly. Philip Pullman is a genius. I thought J.K. Rowling was masterful in awaking the magic in us, but Pullman takes it to a whole new level. The Golden Compass isn't fanciful, but dark and slightly gloomy. It gets the mind ticking. I started The Subtle Knife which is the second book of the trilogy and already, I am finding confirmation and validation of my belief system through Pullman's cleverly disguised fiction.

See, I don't remember movies well, and I saw The Golden Compass when it came out on DVD in summer 2008. Since I saw the movie, I forgot many of the sequences and reasons why things happened. My subconscious didn't though. I didn't know anything of the books nor of the author, Philip Pullman. Last week or so when I first started thinking hard on the movie but before I read the book, The Golden Compass, I did some research. Pullman is a controversial writer, but if you are going to write, is there any other way?

The first thing I read was on Snopes.com, which I thought was a rather reputable source. After reading what it had to say, I felt a little worried, but something didn't sit right. I could not believe what I had read. Though I wasn't familiar with any of his works and I couldn't remember the movie, I felt strongly of exactly the opposite of what Snopes said.

I next read a random interview with Philip Pullman and within seconds, I realized that Snopes had it wrong. This is not the interview that I originally read, but HisDarkMaterials.org covers what I read in that random interview.

I truly believe that fiction is a great tool for education. In the interview that I posted above, a person named, Muhaimin, asks Pullman an interesting question:

Muhaimin: "How do you imagine such an epic world in “The Golden Compass”? Did you look for it or did it come to you?"

Hello, Muhaimin: This is an interesting question, because it’s something I’ve often wondered about myself. When I’m telling a story I know, with part of my mind, that I’m making it up; but with another part of my mind, it feels as if I’m discovering something that is already there, in some mysterious way, and I’m learning about it rather than inventing it. So I can’t give you a definite answer! The one thing I do know is that if I don’t work steadily and try to write every day, no story will get written at all. So I try to do that.

How I relate to this. From a young age, I knew that I wanted to be a writer. I wrote my first play in 4th grade, but I didn't go on to do much else. I didn't submit work to the school newspaper or literary journal. I studied creative writing, briefly, in a privileged class at Loyola where the only objective was to write at least one short story. I wrote a small epic, which embarrassed me to read some time back. I don't even know if I have it anymore. I tend to burn my work at times. I have worked intermittently over the past 30 years keeping most of my broken work in hidden journals. In 2006, after spending a week alone and in retreat, a story hit me. It came to me in a full block like an epiphany. This has never happened to me before.

I know that I am at a zenith in my life as I discover many new things about myself and about the world in opposition as it was taught to me my entire life. I feel open and alive as so much of the natural world awakens within us all. I hope to use my writing as a tool for education and awakening. Will it be controversial? You can bet on it.

I would like to introduce you to the beginning of the story. I have kept in hidden for years. I have struggled as to whether or not to put it out there, but the urge to do so is overwhelming. I don't share freely these things, but the time has come to act without fear.

I hope you enjoy Stillwater Farm.

Stillwater Farm

You can read an intro HERE.

Part I

As he exited the old Buick, said good-bye and stuck out his thumb, about two minutes passed when a dark blue Volvo station wagon stopped. His friends warned him about the dangers of lone hitchhiking across the United States, but after reading a few classic novels on the subject, his zeal to try the task in this modern age was more then just a dream. His soul called for him to travel adventurously and cheaply. He was at a good point in his life. He had no obligations or responsibilities, and whatever happened, happened.
"Dude, there are some weirdos out there. This isn't the sixties when VW busses were in constant motion from coast to coast. This is not the dawning of a new era."
"I know this guy who tried to travel the country hitchhiking. He was picked up by so many pervs, and when he wouldn't suck 'em or let them give him head, he got abandoned on the side of the road."
"That's nothing. What about the hitchhiker who got axed up?"
"I looked that one up, and it is an urban legend."
"So what dude. What about all those freaked out 'copy-cat' killers out there? Didn't you see the Saw movies? What if someone tries something like that?"
He couldn't live on what ifs? He didn't want to be stifled. Moving deep inside him was a calling to go, travel, and let the spirits guide him. This wasn't some fetish. He knew that this had to be done, but when the rustic Volvo wagon stopped, he didn't know the twist of fate that was to become him.

As he approached the wagon from the rear, he noticed a big plastic container filled with food and an old army-green wool blanket covering the rest of it. As he looked into the backseat before opening the door, he saw a shabby, hard-bodied, brown suitcase. When he opened the door, a small blue elephant stuffed animal with orange inside the ears sat in the passenger seat. It was a cheap stuffed animal, the kind that you win out of one of those game machines at a bar or grocery store. He lowered his head, glanced at the driver and tried to conceal his surprise at the woman driver traveling alone.
She seemed normal looking with chin length curly hair and a pink sundress on her athletic frame. She wore sunglasses, and he couldn't see her eyes. Her mood, when she spoke, was less then cheerful and glumly polite at best.
"Hi. Where are you going?" she asked him.
"I'm going East." He didn't have a destination in mind. He began his journey in the Smoky Mountains. He walked and camped on the Appalachian Trail to Asheville. The Buick, his first real ride outside his friend who drove him to the drop-off in the mountains, picked him up in Asheville and let him out about twenty miles south at the top of the exit ramp on the busy interstate. The Volvo was only his second ride, and his nerves began to take hold.
"Are you in a hurry?" She asked. He thought that an odd question.
"Oh, not really."
"Well, you can just let me know where to drop you off. You can ride for as long as you like." He looked at her for maybe a second too long.
"Well, if you want a ride, your stuff will fit in the backseat. This is a dangerous place to linger with speeding traffic and all." He had only one very large backpack, and everything was in it including his wallet. All of a sudden, he had wished that his wallet was in his pocket, but it was too late to make that move. He had read the book by Lars Eighner, Travels with Lizbeth, and suddenly became worried that this seemingly normal looking woman would take off with all his stuff leaving him without as much his address book which kept all his emergency numbers.
He found himself saying, "Oh sure." He stepped to the left, opened the door, placed his pack on the seat and closed the door with nervous anxiety. As the door banged shut, the moment of truth gripped his gut as he wondered if she would drive off. He moved towards the front door that he unconsciously left ajar. He moved the little blue elephant, sat in the passenger seat and closed the door. She didn't move.
"Seatbelt," she said in a motherly fashion. As the seatbelt clicked, she merged into traffic.

To be continued...

09 March 2009

I hate Daylight Savings

So there. I've been in hate with daylight savings for at least 10 years since we lived in Arizona where those Einstein's don't observe daylight savings time.

I'm not going to rehash the history, but Standard Time has it all spelled out.

There is also a facebook page Stop Daylight Savings!!!...I don't know if that'll link if you're not a Facebook member...

Daylight savings is retarded. It fucks up scheduling, which is something you may not appreciate till you have kids and they have to go to bed and get up for school.

People say, "Oh, but it's light so late..."

and I say, "Yeah, and now it's fucking black fucking morning when I have to get myself and kid up for school..."

Then they say, "Oh, but the day is so long."

and I say, "You ignorantard, the day is the same length in time, 24 hours, except now an hour of it has vanished. Imagine getting up WITH the sun. You may go to bed a little earlier if you do. Oh, but them, you might miss some TV shows that you like (said sarcastically)."

Then they say,"Oh, but it helps us save energy."

and I say, "Fucking how? The only thing that saves energy is turning off your fucking lights and going to bed when it's dark. Also stop driving your fucking car so much...ride a bike or take public transit. Stop supporting industrialized agriculture which sucks up huge quantities our nations energy. Learn how to cook and stop buying industrialized foods. Learn where energy comes from...heard of the TVA sludge spill in TN? Read from people who experienced it. I guarantee that if you get up with the sun, stay on schedule and simplify your life, you'll save energy whether on daylight savings time or not."

(Notice that I do all the cussing? I have been so sweet and demure on my posts, but this is the true other side of me...fighting, hissing, cussing, fighting...)

It's time to stop daylight savings and take back control of our lives.

06 March 2009

Indulgence and Folly

One of my favorite bloggers is someone named RAGS at The Rags Show. He is a homeless person in New York. It's not that his writing style is the best, though talented enough. It's not that he is super funny, though I do like his sharp wit. He has some decent, if not at times, unusual ideas. One thing he does, though, is write. He writes if not everyday, almost everyday. He may write twice a day. RAGS' view is to the point, blunt and honest. He is intelligent and well read.

I read his latest blog entry today after posting Good Daemon, Good Daemon. I like writing about such things, but after reading RAGS, I felt the true indulgence of my life as I sit at the laptop in my cozy little home financially supported by a loving husband.


I like RAGS. Check him out, but don't tell him that I sent you. I'm afraid of him...of what he would say to me...that maybe I'm lacking substance. Of course, he might feel surprised that someone actually follows him...Lord knows I was surprised and honored when I saw that a few folks are reading me.

One day, when I can help him (if he wants it), I'm going to meet RAGS.

Good Daemon, Good Daemon

Falsehoods can become truth. Fact, reality, legitimacy, whatever you want to call it, can be manipulated through visual and auditory means. Manipulation occurs to sway opinion or thought to hide the truth or sway people away from truths that may actually be empowering. Yes, manipulation occurs to disempower, to gain control. Exploiting the truth to gain power and control…that must be what happened to the daemons.

Daemons are supernatural, good, benevolent beings that operate between mortals and God. I consider them the messengers, protectors and guides. The term can also refer to animals, totems, angels, and nature spirits. They are links to the ultimate Divine and here with us at all times. Carl Jung stated that daemons "express a determining power which comes upon man from outside, like providence or fate, though the ethical decision is left to man." For Plato and Socrates, the daemon was not a determining power, but rather a divine guardian and guiding power.

Somewhere along the way, though, the term daemon turned ugly for the general populace. The term seems to have been Latinized and morphed or manipulated and is now known more commonly by the Judeo-Christian exploitative term demon. I don't have to go into what a demon is. Plenty of scary books and movies have filled our minds full of the dirty deeds of demons.

Why the switch from good daemon to bad demon? My guess is power and control. It took the power from the individual to know God, or Divine Wisdom, from within and gave the control to a select few. We have been taught that only a select few have the power of God and that only a select few have access to the Divine Wisdom and that we must rely on that select few to have access to God. But that is not true.

God is within you. The Divine Wisdom is within you. That's it. It's that simple. And knowing that gives you all the happiness, truth, energy, love…you don't need to look at an outside person to tell you where God is.

And, there is no point in attaching blame to anyone, anything, any religion or even the practice of psychology for the exploitation. Blaming doesn't change a thing. It is a distraction that keeps you from your soul's purpose.

I keep having visions of The Golden Compass…again, a movie that I have seen and a book that I begin reading today…I keep seeing the scene in the movie where the child is being separated from his daemon, which is represented as an animal. I keep seeing the child and his daemon imprisoned with only the cage type wall separating them. They are right next to each other, watching each other, screaming and crying as the laser severs the magical bond between them. The child is left lost, confused, lifeless and without will.

In reality, there is no machine that physically separates us from our divine source and our guides, but many on this planet suffer. It is power, control, greed, jealousy and anger of others (and yourself) that attempt to mentally sever you from God and your guides.

The fabric may be torn but is still intact.

The great news is that we all have equal access to God, to the Divine Source, Inspiration and Guidance. You have a guide who has been with you every step of the way and only wants to help you on your life plan and with your soul's purpose. You only have to open to believe, and continue to believe. Your guide is here, now, to help you. Your guide is like candlelight in a dark room. Once you recognize the light, it grows only brighter.

I can imagine that when people heard voices or saw visions that they were categorized as crazy or possessed by demons instead of being seen as gifted or having communion with their Divine Guardians. Daemons are not demons.

What we do now is recognize and honor the truth. Ask your guide for assistance and direction. It only takes a small shift in perception. Like a trickle of pure water caught behind a dam of muck. The crack already exists, let it open wider.

P.S. If you hear voices that tell you to hurt others in any way, that is NOT your daemon or guide. If you are hearing voices that instruct you to hurt, you need to ask for help. If you think that no one will listen, start by shouting to God. Yell, "God, I need help." Then say, "God, I need help. We are One. I need help." Then say mentally all the time, "God, we are One. We are One." Ask your true guides to help you on this life's journey, to help you with good, to show your soul's purpose, which is good.

04 March 2009

The Hellwinckels in Knox News

Yeah! We did it again! Another small step for gardening education!

Friend, neighbor and author Terry Shaw wrote about us in his weekly News Sentinel column...Winter Doesn't Stop This Gardener