ANNOUNCING:

ANNOUNCING:

The Fully Illustrated Elias

A Novel Attempt
by Share


http://www.flickr.com/photos/68607481@N00/sets/


(think of it as a book, and these are the chapters)

The Dead Guy Website

The Dead Guy Website
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Visit @

http://web.mac.com/lfdeale/iWeb/Site/Podcast/Podcast.html

when I was four

The Bent Wheat Daily
Post Serial
January 8, 2002

When I Was Four

It doesn’t matter what you say, it matters what you do. This is not a surprise to me, I knew this when I was four. Adults said a lot, sometimes I didn’t know the words, because I did not have the definitions for them yet. It was what they did that was important. Like that statement they make just before they spank you, "This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you." Hardly.

Adults taught me to say words that did not necessarily express my own feelings, like please and thank you. After a while, please and thank you did not have an emotional meaning, it was something just to be said. That went for I Love You too, it did not have an emotional meaning. If my face was stinging from a slap, I Love You was not a comfort.

So somewhere around four I could follow my feelings, and ignore words. Somewhere after that, it got turned around. Maybe in school where they teach you the twenty-six letters of the alphabet by the corresponding sound. Make the sound of A, like in A B C. And then magically all those letters go together to make words, but the sounds of the letters change, like the a in cat. So I had to learn the words, in spite of what the letters said to me. The words became more important than my own natural impulses.

So sometimes I would wait too long, almost wet my pants, because I was so engrossed. I was learning to deny myself, that is what obedience is. But I willingly learned it, because I wanted to know about the word.

The Word was also religious, if it was written it was important. Print anything you want in the newspaper, because it is written it can become authorized history, no matter how distorted. It doesn’t matter what I write, for what I write may not be what you read. But whatever you read, is your own distortion, your own perspective.

And it passes that way, person to person. Distortion to distortion.

But beneath the word is a feeling associated with that word.

You can feel the word courage, you can also feel the words coward, dishonest, unloyal. And they hurt, and I wondered why? But every one of those words is just a distortion. Loyal is a great one for perspective, as it depends on which side of the fence you are on at the moment.

I spent a lot of my life saying words that I thought I knew what they meant, and they always meant the same thing to everybody. Like "in sickness and in health, till death do us part." But I remember on the way home from my second marriage, my new husband said that if I ever got fat, he would divorce me. Obviously, "till death do us part," did not make it home, much less the honeymoon.

I guess now, I really look hard at words because I never lost my fascination.

Words have a myriad of meanings. Sometimes we forget how very much one word can mean. How it is written is important, for the word may sound the same when spoken. And one word can have many different feelings. It depends on the usage.

Hateful words can become fun words, like bitch, which jumped right out of the closet and became enjoyably flamboyant. The same with fuck, it’s a great word to poke fun at. I guess what I’m saying is that to expand the definition of a word is to expand its feeling. Coward, dishonest, and unloyal don’t have to always feel bad sometimes they can feel funny. And I get to choose how I feel.

My vocabulary of words associated to feelings may be different than yours, like the jokes are not funny to you. But it doesn’t matter what I say, it only matters what I do.
If the part of my self that writes, or says, is in alignment with the part of myself that acts. And if they are in alignment, there is a recognizable tone to it.

The part of myself that acts, is the movement of me.

And it moves as it desires, in spite of what I say.

But when they are in alignment, the words spoken or written take on an aspect of sincerity.

It is a tone, and I can hear it, I can read it, and I can feel it.

Feeling sincerity is of great benefit to me.

I remember it from when I was four.


Wit Love – from the Editor,
The God of Sharon

ElvisRadio

The Bent Wheat Daily
Post Serial
January 7, 2002

Reprint – ElvisRadio


THIS IS ELVIS RADIO AM...nightly, 10 PM Pacific...at K-L-U-E...simultaneous
radio network. Stay tuned for Adventure in Time…brought to you…by Déjà Vu.

Hello Ladies and Gentlemen…welcome to the show. The guest for tonight will be
Dr. Fix It. We will not be accepting calls tonight because there is just no need to ask the Dr. any questions, they are all answered in his book.

Hello, Dr.

Hello, Déjà.

Let’s get started by introducing your new book called, How to Fix Everything, by Dr. Fix It. This book is an extraordinary overnight success, Dr. And what’s even more curious, is that the book is only one page. How do you explain that?

Well, Déjà, it did take me a half hour to write that page, but if you will notice the index is quite extensive, and I had some obstacles finding a publisher, and designing the cover art, which did delay the distribution.

What is even more amazing Dr., is that this book has had very little publicity, and yet people are finding it on their own.

Yes, some people are drawn right to it, must be the cover.

Some of the things you outline on the first and only page, is the toolbox, can you detail that for our listeners?

Certainly, Déjà. The first thing everyone needs in their toolbox is a high quality magnifying glass. And the second thing that everyone needs in their toolbox is a screwdriver. You should give your closely examined problem a quarter turn, right or left, it doesn’t matter.

This is a very important factor, Dr. I notice you have it highlighted in bold print.

Yes, that is accurate. Everyone thinks they have to turn it to the right, but that’s incorrect, it doesn’t matter right or left, it’s just important that you turn it.

And then what, Dr?

That’s it. You can fill the rest of your toolbox with ice and beer, because you’re finished.

That is astounding Dr. And this fixes everything?

Yes it does.

You also have the shortcut method. Can you explain that?

This is for more advanced users. They can just assume it’s not broke, and never was, and that way they have more room in their toolbox for ice and beer.

Now, Dr., I notice there is a troubleshooting section on the bottom of the page. Could you go over that with us?

Of course, Déjà. Even though my method is quite simplistic, a lot of people have great difficulty with it. You see, the quarter turn is very gentle. People get in trouble because they keep trying to screw it hard to the right, and this is totally unnecessary. The more you try to screw it to the right, the more you’ll need a hammer to drive it home. And then you’ll need a bigger hammer and a bigger hammer after that. All those hammers take up room in your toolbox, and that doesn’t leave much space for the ice and beer.

So, it’s just a gentle quarter turn?

That’s correct.

We’ve pretty much covered the entire first page. Is there any reason why our listeners should buy your book?

I do have one hell of an index, Déjà.

Yes, you do Dr. Fix it. Well, that’s all the time we have for tonight. Once again, I’d like to thank Dr. Fix It for being here…and the name of the book is "How to Fix Everything." And I guess you can recognize the book by its cover. This is your reporter, Déjà Vu, at K-L-U-E...simultaneous radio network, signing off for this evening. I wish you well.

(dead air)

reprint

Printed in the Conscious Creation Journal
March 2001 Wiggling in My Seat
by Sharon Mendenhall

Introduction to this uniquely flavored material: When I was seventeen, I read the book "1984," and I knew that something would happen in 1984 that would change my life. And it did! A book in the library fell off the shelf and hit me on the head, so I checked it out. Since then Seth not only has spoke to me, he has yelled, loudly. Something about "You Create Your Own Reality, so get a clue, Jack!"

Fifteen years later, when I was just about able to convince Seth my name wasn’t Jack, here comes Elias to hit me on the head with a big hammer. I’m still in the process of getting a clue, but I had to do it my way. Put it in my own words, so Elias would put that damn hammer down. The result was some type of outlandish diary. A diary about me and my jumbled up concepts. I have no other excuse. If I did, I would definitely use it.

I created a reality entitled, "Diary of a Goddess." It started out just a little at a time, just some random thoughts that I spontaneously committed to electronic paper. But then mysteriously, the chapters started to link together, and some 350 pages later I began to wonder what to do with all this stuff. Some of it is funny, DAMN funny. (Oh my, Spiritual Humor! I always thought that was an oxymoron.)

I’m just a hitchhiker travelin’ through the universe and lookin’ for a good time, as we all are. The diary has been just plain fun for me, and I hope it will be for you also. If either Seth or Elias start hitting you over the head with a hammer, well, I had nutin’ to do wif’ it. You’re on your own.

Reader, beware!

Sincerely,
Sharon Mendenhall

The Cosmic Motion Picture Company presents

Wiggling in My Seat

I sort of wiggled in my seat, as I listened to someone else’s definition of myself. A version of me from their perspective, filtered through their beliefs. It’s hard not to discount myself, I guess I wiggle a little to remind myself not to go there.

Her version was that I do too much for others, compared to others versions that I do too little. No happy medium there, I immediately determined. Can’t please everybody, why bother? She wanted to know why I was there? Inspiration was my response.

And then she wanted to know why I blocked my writing? Hmmm, interesting I thought. I tried to explain that it comes in waves. Sometimes I write till my fingers ache, other times I don’t write at all, just observe. And then she elaborately complimented my writing, which she had read very little of, and none of the recent stuff. I accepted her comments with grace, verbally, but I wiggled a little more. I was discounting again. I knew she wasn’t familiar with anything I had written in the last year. I wondered what she would say if she had read any of it.

She wanted to know why it wasn’t published? I thought it had been. I mean it’s out there, for those who wish to find it. It just isn’t printed. Never has been, no book for people to judge by the cover. A waste of paper and ink as far as I’m concerned. It will change, and keep changing.

I hadn’t been around that much this past year and she had missed me. I missed her too. And then the magic word came, she added, that I was weird.

Weird, that’s a good discounting word. What is weird? Or more like what isn’t weird? I equate not weird to boring. What isn’t weird is listening to someone tell you about all the terrible things happening in their life. I hear it all the time and it makes me want to avoid saying, "how are you?" for fear they might tell me. What isn’t weird to me, is that I don’t want to discuss that anymore, but I guess that is weird to them. After all, it seems to be the main subject for all conversations. What is wrong, victim, victim, victim.

"None of it is wrong, and none of it is right, it just is what you are creating in the moment," I said. Not the statement she wished to hear. Adds to that weird business. She tilts her head.

I laugh, this is funny. Your perspective of my perspective filtered through your beliefs and listened to by mine. It’s a wonder we can even communicate. Nothing for me to do but laugh, it is humorous to say the least. I talk a bit about perspective, how everyone has their unique own. She understands, somewhat. It explains the laughing, but not completely. Adds to the weird.

Yes, I agree, I am weird, in the context of my own definition. But I’m enjoyably weird, I believe weird should be delightfully entertaining. And I don’t think I’ve ever been labeled as weird by anyone whom I did not think was equally as weird. We sort of have that mirror thing going for us. It’s fun when I recognize it, discounting when I don’t.

Notice, notice, notice, I say to myself. Notice that no one is ever talking about me. How can they? They are always talking about themselves, and using me for the mirror. What disturbs them the most in themselves is what they are telling me they find most disturbing in me. Listen, listen, listen. Don’t discount myself, no need to. No need for defense, it isn’t even about me. Choose how to receive. I can do that, although not as well as I would like. I’m not a major league player yet.

"Shared dream," I say. Best way I can explain it. Very much the same, other than one is anchored in the thick soup of time. Objects are frozen symbols, and can be interpreted like a dream object. Events are the same as dream events, sometimes confusing, but always meaningful. It is so obvious that we create our own reality in a dream, for dreams exist nowhere in time and space, but so hard to accept that we create our own reality in waking existence in much the same way.

I create nightmares that frighten me until I wake up and realize it was just a dream. I create nightmares in waking reality also, till I pinch myself to remind myself it’s just another dream of sorts. Nothing more, nothing less. Experience. Pinch, pinch, pinch. It is simple, why do we complicate it the way we do? There are no rules for dreams. No absolutes. And dreams are always from your own perspective, for you create them out of thin air.

I had many subjective experiences during my weekend visitation. Many connections and impressions, but one objective experience stands out from the rest. It was a reception, a party, a celebration welcoming a new baby. His older brother, by three years, spent most of his time lying on the couch, somewhat ignored. I was told that he had many problems, and I wondered because at first meeting I thought he was less than a year old. He did not crawl, nor do much of anything, and seemed to be oblivious to the activity that surrounded him.

At one point, later in the evening, his father was holding him upright on the floor, playing with him. I sat next to them both on the floor, absorbed in another conversation with someone else. He turned to me, and started to walk towards me aided by his father, and instinctively I held out my hands. He came to me, put his heart over my heart, and his head on my shoulder. From that moment, till it came time for him to leave, he never once left my arms. Everyone was shocked, his father, his mother, his older brother, and all the friends that knew him well. "He never does that," they said, "he is autistic. He never responds to strangers."

They looked at me with the awe that we attribute to a miracle. A child, happy and contented, communicating in his own way, to me. "He doesn’t have any facial expressions," his mother warned. I hadn’t noticed. I saw expression. "He has heart problems," his father warned. I hadn’t noticed as he put his heart on mine, there was no problem.

Later I was told that I gave him a gift, but I didn’t see it that way. He gave me the gift, the demonstration of the power of acceptance. I didn’t know him and I didn’t judge him as defective or handicapped. I accepted him the way he was, perfect, and he accepted me in response. Validation that healing is in the power of acceptance.

So eventually the vacation weekend ended. I thanked my friend for the renewed friendship, and the Tumold healer, with enough of a Sumari splash to be weirdly entertaining, rode into the blazing sunset. Hi, ho, onward.

©2000, Sharon Mendenhall. Most of the art is also ©2000, Ragen Mendenhall. Printed in the Conscious Creation Journal. http://www.consciouscreation.com (Feel free to duplicate this article for personal use - please include this copyright notice and the URL.)

Sharon Mendenhall has been a lover, a fighter, a bareback movie scriptwriter, and much more. She lives in Las Vegas, Nevada, which is no excuse, and has three children, which is also no excuse. She is a published writer, having written one story, in one book that was published. But you will find her name in italic print if you turn to page 23 of "Expect Miracles" by Mary Ellen. They even spelled it correctly....

Value Fulfillment

It is a question of semantics, for there are no words. The best one could hope to do would be to take the existing words and expand them to a capacity to hold a definition that would be accommodation for universes. For even to attempt to explain intent confines the word in the modern day context. Intent is the basic building block of humanity, that which is contained in every nook and cranny of consciousness. It is the fuel that spins the galaxies, and that, that gives purpose to existence. And beneath every action, beneath every breath, lies the basic intent of the individual personality nurturing the soul as a mother cradles the newborn to give assurance.

It is intent that spins the atom or propels a proton in unaccountable directions. It is intent that fills our lungs with every breath. Intent is the inexhaustible godlike endowment and to comprehend intent in its total dimension and potential is beyond the words of human language.

And intent manifested into objects, events, and flesh, is value fulfillment in the magnificent glory of accomplishment.

In Memorium

tinkerbell
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

holiday greetings from the families

holiday greetings from the families
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

total recall

total recall
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Retrospect

The Retrospect is a little tiny speck of an animal, dressed in retro clothing. I venture to say, Retrospect is all of 12 years old, at best.

Beyond that, Retrospect has some distorted illusion of the past.

I don’t put much stock into Retrospect.

Consider this the stock report, if you know the concept of stock is actually value and worth.

Editor

I’m not Mark, but I would like to leave my mark.

You have to understand that there isn’t a physical Mark. You can look from now to doomsday, and there just isn’t a physical Mark.

Mark is a personality essence vapor.

It isn’t that he doesn’t exist, he does. And to prove it, he wrote a whole bunch of books, just like Seth. There, somewhere, on the very first page is the by line.…

Written by Mark Twain.

And just like Seth, Mark became famous. You might say, he left his mark, so to speak.

And it isn’t that you don’t have an image of Mark, cause you do.

Mark always wears white suits like a southern gentleman, and he loves to smoke. He has white Einstein hair, the same consistency of static electricity, with matching untamed moustache. And he speaks his mind.

Mind you.

But hold on to your American Heritage undershorts, cause Mark was an alter ego of Sam.

And you wouldn’t of much liked Sam.

Sam was the original Wally Whiner.

Sam didn’t like anything. And he especially didn’t like physical work.

And Sam was not a good communicator.

So he invented Mark.

Mark was Ilda, so he could tell a good story. Not a true story, because there is no true, just opinion. A good story is much different. A good story is one full of adventure and imagination. A good story is inspiring. A good story is the muse in amusing. A good story travels the email horn and comes back to you like a boomerang.

The only problem with that is that you probably won’t be able to get a job at the Sumafi New York Times.

Some issue with accuracy, I suppose.

Editor

Avoid Freud

Writing to me, is therapy.
I can take grief, or hostility.
Out of my head, and put them to bed, on paper.
You may not think, it’s as good as a shrink.
But, it’s definitely cheaper!

Poetry by me and Mark 2

Diary of a Goddess

This book is dedicated to my female dogma, "Goddess," and all the other Goddesses. You already know who you are.

Copyright © 2000 by L. F. Deale Bf.D.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce children who never want to leave home, and keep hanging around hoping I will give them more money. Don’t make copies of brief passages, and then e-mail them to your friends all over the planet, because you think this stuff is so damn funny you just can’t hardly stand it. If you do that, you will be penalized by them replying to your e-mail in some cryptic code, like ROTFL, or ROTFLMAO. I do not know what that means, so do not e-mail me and ask, just consider it additional punishment for your heinous crime.

For information write: lfdeale@aol.com

If you are unable to order this book from your local bookseller, you let me know via e-mail, and I may call them up personally, and give them a piece of my mind. (or not).

ISBN CATEGORY – SPIRITUAL HUMOR (oxymoron)
Preface

This book is dangerously funny. Discontinue reading if you are susceptible to itching, vertigo, dizziness, tingling in extremities, loss of balance or coordination, slurred speech, temporary blindness, profuse sweating, or heart palpitations, caused by uncontrollable laughter. Immediately consult your physician, shaman, alternative healer, or psychic reader before proceeding. Pregnant women, the elderly, and children under 10 should avoid prolonged exposure.

Refrain from eating, drinking, smoking, taking recreational or prescription drugs, or engaging in sexual intercourse while reading this book. If this book should begin to smoke, get away immediately and seek shelter.

When not in use, this book should be returned to its special container, and kept under refrigeration to prevent disintegration. Failure to do so relieves the author of any and all liability.

This book is a compilation of the author’s personal beliefs. Some of the wisdom, contained within these covers, has been channeled in obscure languages and dialects, presumably from outer space. Any resemblance to actual names, characters, places, incidents or movies is entirely coincidental. Of course, there is no such thing as coincidence, which is another one of the author’s beliefs.

Remember that THIS IS MY BELIEFS, AND ONLY MY BELIEFS, you can believe whatever you want.

Introduction

For centuries, people have been keeping their dogmas on a tight leash, and not allowing them to run around in the backyard, and get some fresh air. When I was small, I had a black and white, Catholic dogma, who would constantly yip in my ear, or bite at my heels. My dogma was very masculine, and was forever marking his territory, which happened to be my living space. As I got older, I began to notice that both my dogma, and my living space, had started to stink. By that time, my dogma was old and cranky, and I was tired of putting up with him, so I began to search for a new dogma.

There are all kinds of dogmas in the world, but most of them are male. Some of them have been nurtured, and think they are asexual. Those types of abstemious dogmas aren’t very much fun to have around. I was looking for a big, bad, watch dogma, for protection against people who exhibited dogmatic ideas, and reeked of a noxious odor, that would always remind me of my old Catholic dogma, whom I mistakenly believed, had long since died.

One day, just by chance, I stumbled upon a female dogma, that was so beautiful that I fell in love with her immediately. I named her "Goddess." She is a wonderful dogma because she is intensely nurturing. Then I began to notice that most female dogmas are the very same way. They seem to be much brighter than male dogmas, as most male dogmas are restrained to basic left-brain activity, which sometimes causes them to be perpetually sprinkling testosterone on anything they can, and forgetting that other activities exist.


Female dogmas have a phenomenal method for handling the male dogmas’ isolated, egotistic, and tyrannical behavior. Every so often, when the mood strikes them, they choose one, from a huge range of male dogmas (that are always readily available), and commingle for a brief period of time. I do admit, they are sort of locked into that situation for a while. But, female dogmas are never concerned about restricting themselves to only one male dogma. This tendency has given the female dogma a very bad name, however. So, whenever a female dogma is displaying her intrinsic and inherent predisposition, humans call her a "bitch."

I never restrict my dogma, and she never restricts me, but one day I noticed that "Goddess" was disappearing for hours at a time. I was curious about where she was going, so I followed her, only to discover that "Goddess" was having meetings with the other female dogmas in the neighborhood. It seems that, for some mysterious reason, all the female dogmas of the Earth have suddenly detected a high-pitched sound that has revived an ancient memory, and caused them to respond accordingly. I began to investigate the reason for their sudden astute and perspicacious senses, and what I learned is that, you can teach old dogmas new tricks.

This book is about my investigation into the deep, dark recesses of the brain of my female dogma, to learn what exactly makes her tick. What I discovered, was intelligence so alien to prevalent beliefs that it is constantly shrieking for attention, because it was ignored for so long.

This reminded me of a movie I had once seen, where the alien intelligence actually took over the Earth, and proved to be smarter, and more capable, thereby, saving the Earth from total inhalation and further trauma. This was not a popular sci-fi, however, because it had a chaotic plot with absolutely no violence, or conflict, of any kind. I don’t think it ever even made it to video being considered too philosophical for the mass audience. The movie going multitude could not perceive that a fundamental principle of cooperation and acceptance could ever really survive on the planet Earth. For the life of me, I can’t even remember the title, but I am still searching for that movie, because I would like to view it again.

In the meantime, I have noticed certain parts of other movies that strike me as being very profound in a symbolic manner. This caused me to want to write my own movie in book form, which I have done with the help of "Goddess," my female dogma, who steadfastly sits by my feet, and bestows nothing but unencumbered love and support.

How much is that Dogma?

How much is that dogma in the window?
The one with the mysterious tale.

How much is that dogma in the window?
I sure hope that dogma’s for sale.

Woof, woof.

Mark Too

In a message dated 2/23/03 2:26:07 PM, LRSymans@aol.com writes:

Dear Editor of BWD,

Aren't you Mark Twain or did I hallucinate that one?

Regards,

Sister Aimee >>


Dear Sister Aimee;
Thank you for the inquiry.
Mark Twain never was,
He’s just an aspect of Samuel cause,
Samuel was such a wimp.
Weak, spiritless and limp.
In order to make Sam so great
we all had to hallucinate.
And we called it Mark.

Sincerely,
L.F. Deale Bf.D
Editor




Session 1295
March 17, 2003


JOANNE: Oh, I have to ask this, because I’ve really been giving myself a hard time. Is Jim/Marion Mark Twain?

ELIAS: No. The individual does incorporate observing essence in partial focus, not entire.

JOANNE: I knew when I’d gotten the impression there was something different, like a split personality almost between Samuel Clemens and Mark Twain. I knew that Jim had something to do with it, and I sort of just summed it up as he was Mark Twain. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that someone else was also Mark Twain.

MARJ: Like Sharon.

JOANNE: Like Sharon/Camdon had something to do with that whole...

ELIAS: Both of these individuals do incorporate a focus that is associated with that individual.

MARJ: So they have focuses associated with, in addition to the observing essence?

ELIAS: Correct, and do incorporate a type of relationship with that individual.

JOANNE: Sharon thought that she... I’ll let her talk to you about that; I don’t really know all the details. Okay, so there was something there, cool.


Editor’s note:

See I told you I wasn’t Mark Twain.

I just fucked with him.

Now he’s fucking with me.

Poetic Justice.

menu/chapters/sets

menu/chapters/sets
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

postcards from the periphery

postcards from the edge
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

instructions:

click on postcard
be sure to read the stuff below the image and follow the links into the rabbit hole. how deep does it go?

Feel free to explore flickr
Feel free to,

share (editor)

Innocents Abroad

I thought I could write a book with my ramblings, and I could call it "The Innocents Abroad," except that title has already been used by Mark Twain. And God forbid anyone confuses me with Mark. Rather I could call it "A Novice in Unfamiliar Territory or the Perils of Pauline in the Periphery."

Pauline is a frustrated lyric writer who has been bound to the railroad track of limitation, knowing full well that Dudley DoRight is an animated cartoon character and unable to save her. She still hopes for rescue, but basically it’s up to her to free her own self.

And the Periphery is an E-llusion, compared to an illusion or delusion. An E-llusion is when you know you’re there, and that it is real, because there is no un-real. Geographically, the Periphery is just outside the boundary of the normal mass belief tunnel vision.

And I preamble with a story from Elias about a man that was not originally from this country. Not speaking of geography, but a country of time. And he grew and left home and ventured into another country of time, but in so moving had to learn a new language. In fact, he had to learn several new languages as he moved further and further from his home. And because he no longer speaks his native language, he has forgotten it.

(BTW: let me side track here in an update, in case you are confused by my websites. I am writing in this language that has been forgotten. It is the language of imagery, color, and association. It is the language that you speak in dreams.)

Now his parents, his essence, still send messages and greetings, but this man has forgotten how to respond. This man has totally separated from his essence in his growing and exploring of new lands of time. But now he wishes to connect with his family again, and in doing so must remember his native tongue of communication.

And he begins to wander towards home with a great desire to reconnect. And in the process he will encounter much unfamiliar territory.

And the first thing he must learn is that there is no one to rescue him, or her, in the case of Pauline. Rescue in itself is an animated cartoon character where the cure is often worse than the disease.

It isn’t that DoRight doesn’t show up for Pauline. DoRight always shows up. DoRight is Pauline’s Nemesis, a carryover from hundreds of lifetimes schooled in the virtues of goodness and doing the right thing. Good is as close to God as one can get, if you dropkick one of those o’s into left field. The second best is clean. Good and clean together is an extra three points.

The problem is that in the unfamiliar territory of the periphery, good is often a detriment. Pauline doesn’t always have enough time to evaluate right against wrong or good against bad, without even considering adding all the supplementary attachments like clean. Being good, or the very sticky thesaurus of good, (used most often by politicians up for re-election,) moral or righteousness or virtuous, are much like swimming with brick shoes.

Pauline is only innocent in the aspect of guileless babe in the woods. She is not pure and unsullied, chaste, clean, decent, celibate, lily-white, simon-pure, incorrupt, sinless, vestal, virgin, virginal, virtuous, inviolate, uncorrupted, unspoiled, untainted, benign, bland, innocuous, inoffensive, mild, safe, unobjectionable and polite. And this be the point. The Periphery is not heaven, where those things would look good next to one’s name in St. Peter’s reference guide for who qualifies for a saint pass.

And by the way, just for your edification, St. Peter is no longer there. He has been replaced by a machine where you punch in your four-digit code and the gate lifts. And if you haven’t figured out by now the other choices, like crawling under or over the gate, or waiting for someone else to punch in their code and following them through, or just voldly crashing through the gate, then you’re probably missing the whole point of this essay.

And quite frankly it matters not.

What I wish to say in regards to the Perils of Pauline in the Periphery, is that every episode is a cliffhanger. Beginning with yesterday. (How’s that for imagery?)

vessel

vessel
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

worth

So I was walking along this path of life, just minding my own business, when somewhere in the bulrushes I found this lamp. It was old and rusted, and had a handle on it that seemed somewhat dysfunctional, or at at its best ornamental. And I questioned if I should keep it, or let it continue to rest in its present environment. Such a dented object is often not viewed as opportunity in disguise.

But it was intriguing indeed. I didn't know why I needed this particular lamp of illumination, since I had way many other light sources. But I must have, else-wise I would not have presented it to myself. And yeah, you are right, I'm not fooling ya at this point, cause the familiar story goes;

and then at some point I rubbed that lamp, and a genie appeared to offer me three wishes, and then like, the reveal would be...

what do I wish for?

That's very important you know.

What do you wish for?

For some reason we think we have to put some thought into that. Some advance plan of action. Something additional to ponder, like what would happen to me if suddenly every thing was actually good. What a turn of events. What possible bad can happen to me if I accidently in my life created good. Cause good isn't easy to accept on it own merit.

It has to do with original sin, and not being worthy of it. But enough of those religious beliefs. Let's not go on that bent.

Good is much worse to accept than bad. That is because every time you lift up good, and peer underneath, there is some sort of restriction associated with it. If you define yourself as being good, you usually define it by what you deny yourself.

I am good because...

I don't drink,
I don't smoke,
I don't take drugs.

I don't fuck,
I don't suck,
and I don't look at those who do.

I'm not selfish,
and I'm not hellish,
and I'm not having a whole lot of fun. either.

The duplicity of good, is that it isn't necessarily a lot of fun. If you want to have fun, you have to go to bad. You don't have to live there, however, you could just visit it on weekends. Be back early Monday morning before the start of the work week.

Because, as we all believe, life is work. Life is pain. Life is the majority of time, like 40 hours a week, doing what you don't want to do. But this is good, because if you build up enough pain points, then you can get a free ride on bad. It is based on milage. That is faction.

Never the less...what do I wish for? I still find it rather disconcerting to ask for a bag full of bad. But good actually sucks the big one, so I wouldn't ask for that either. I might ask for happiness, but happiness is like a poof of green gas, that dissipates easily. I want to ask for something lasting.

It might need to be an object, so I can chain it to the floor, and never let it get away. And it should be big and fancy, so all my friends will be jealous. And perhaps it should be loving in that ever so sacrificial way, so I can feel the power of having a slave.

Should I just ask to be the genie?

I think I saw that on Twilight Zone.

This story is true, in my closest estimation. I did ask for something, although I have just a bare foggy remembrance of it.

I asked to live my dreams...

literally.

And so I am.

idiomshitlist

idiomshitlist
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

The Waste of Duplicity in the Linguistics of Neoteric Civilization

Notice:

This text has been copyrighted by the Author and/or by The Bent Wheat Daily, and ElvisRadio AM subsidiaries of The Cosmic Motion Picture Company, a family owned and operated, equal opportunity employer, all rights reserved. This text may be used, printed, and archived in accordance with the Fair Use provisions of U.S. Copyright law. This text may not be archived, printed, or redistributed in any form for a fee, without the consent of the copyright holder. This notice must accompany any redistribution of this text.

This text, written by L.F. Deale, owner and editor of BWD, was first published in 1999, and since has been modified for distribution widely via electronic mail.


The Waste of Duplicity in the Linguistics of Neoteric Civilization
Part I

Duplicity, by definition, is the classification of everything into categories of good and bad. Even shit must fit in a category, so therefore there is good shit and bad shit. Shit seems pretty much the same to me, but for scientific purposes I will attempt to classify the differences within the contents of this essay.

Everyone must "take a shit at some time," but I think that is classified incorrectly. You aren't really "taking a shit," you are "giving a shit," because if you hold on to the shit, you would be very uncomfortable and up shit creek, and that would be some bad shit. So I would put "keeping the shit," into the bad shit category.

However, some people really want to "keep their shit," because they think they have good shit. Obviously, they think that their shit is better than everyone else's shit, like maybe their shit doesn't smell. They think their shit is so good in fact, they even copyright their shit, so that no one else can steal their shit. Or else they lock up their shit, and protect their shit. So I guess "protecting your shit" would put it in the good shit category.

If you are "protecting your shit," then you obviously don't "give a shit," and you don't want people "taking your shit." But most people don't give a shit about taking your shit, so I don't understand what is so good about "protecting your shit". Who wants it?

Some people are shit authorities, and they know bad shit when they see it. They say, that's some really bad shit. But you can't be sure if that is in the good or bad category, because some bad shit is really good, and some bad shit is really bad. I guess if they say that's "some bitchin' shit," then you know for sure that it's good. But if they just say, that's "some really bad shit," you're never quite sure. You might have to ask for a clearer definition.

If they say, "don't give me no shit," that is a shitty definition, because you don't have any idea how "not to give no." I can't really classify that, but it sounds like it could be some bad shit. Bad in the sense of not being good shit, however not in the sense of being bitchin' shit, which of course is actually very good shit.

If they say, that's "some real shit," I think that means it's bad shit. But of course, since bad could also mean very good, it can be confusing. Real shit, however, does sound like it could be bad, compared to unreal shit, which must be like that plastic shit you can buy for practical shit jokes. Therefore, "unreal shit" must be good in comparison, unless you're having the joke played on you. Then you might not think it is too good.

I don't think there is an exact classification for good shit and bad shit. I don't even think there is an exact classification for good and bad, it's just a bunch of shit.

driven

driven
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

I put my dogma in my karma

The BWD in 2003
February 22

Country Music Section

I put my dogma in my karma


I put my dogma
in my karma
and drove it around for a while.

He hung his head
out the window
ears a flappin’ doggie style.

My karma’s a relic
Rusted and a tilt
But it’s no never mind
Cause it carries no guilt

I put my dogma
in my karma
and drove it around for a while.

He hung his head
out the window
lips a wearin’ a doggie smile.

This is the weirdest dogma
That I’ve ever owned
He’s wilde and wooly
And somewhat overgrown.

He’s loyal and loving
Calm and gentle
Spontaneous and
Non-judgmental

He barks and drools
Farts in pools
Has no rules
April fools

He sniffs and smells
For analysis
But holds no prejudice
In the hypothesis

His motto is…

Whatever it is
Piss on it.

free range turkey

free range turkey
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Thanks fucking giving

Hi Mr. Blog.

You don’t mind if I pull up a chair and perhaps we could have a little chat? I’m really feeling depressed, and was needing to get some things off my pink chest.

Oh no, that’s fine I’ll just sit over here on the cyber sofa, next to the cyber reading lamp, that I might have to turn on so I can see what I’m saying.

What’s wrong?

Well, it’s almost Thanks fucking giving, that’s what’s wrong. And you know how any time you name something Thanksgiving, that’s enough to piss you off straight away, and make you want to kick the shit out of something. Like in don’t tell me what to do.

No, not you personally. You what I’m saying. I figure that you’re wide enough not to take this seriously, and start crying some cyber tears, and then I’ll have to say I’m sorry, even though I’m not in the least. You’re not going to get all defensive on me are you?

I didn’t think so.

You don’t have to talk, just listen.

You see I spent all summer learning how to read energy, and now I don’t know if I like it that much, but it’s too late. Like I can’t go backwards. And besides…

I hear the train a comin'; it's rollin' 'round the bend,
And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when.
I'm stuck at Folsom Prison and time keeps draggin' on…
But that train keeps rollin' on down to San Antone.

What train? The disaster train of course. Toot, toot.

Let that lonesome whistle blow my blues away.

What brought that on?

I suppose it’s the holidays. Like last year when I heard about the big wave the day after Xmas, I said of course, that makes sense.. The day after Xmas is the saddest day of the year, and always makes me feel like a street cleaner after the ticker tape parade. All that high expectation turns into some sort of rubbish of wrinkled paper and broken ribbons, and lights that lost their twinkle of expectation. The gift is just so much better before you open it, and so disappointing after.

And of course the second saddest day of the year is the day after Thanks fucking giving, that is only masked by the shopping anticipation for Xmas. Lord knows what we would do if when the going got tough and we couldn’t go shopping. Life is just so full of making plans for tomorrow, and ignoring right now.

Even Thanksgiving itself, where you spend all day fixing a meal, that you eat in 20 minutes, and then are almost too tired to make it to the couch to watch violence on television.

Yes, I know that eating turkey does not make me tired. But the belief that eating turkey makes me tired, just wears me out.

And that has been proven absolutely, by scientists who looked through a microscope of observation, and saw turkey meat consciousness particles waving and rubbing its little eyes, and looking for a soft blanket. So that right there is proof enough to be a paragraph in some scientific text book, or a headline on Yahoo.

But I think that only applies to white turkey meat consciousness, cause if I remember, dark turkey meat consciousness went outside and played a banjo.

And it only applies to domesticated turkey meat, too stupid to remember that all turkeys are free range, cause they can fly.

Now don’t get me to talkin’ about expensive free range turkeys, cause that will make me laugh.

Stop it Mr. Blog.

I feel a giggle coming on. It’ll ruin my drama.

Is there anything good on TV?

personality of energy / color coded

personality of energy / color coded
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Hey!

If you go directly to the following address, you'll find this is some sort of strange and unusual work-in-progress book, and these are the chapter titles:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/68607481@N00/sets/

I call it the "Fully Illustrated Elias" for lack of a better name.

Suggestions welcome.

Appreciation Love,
Share

Tumold belonging/ Sumari rising/Ilda splash!
Orientation - about as common as you can get.
Emotional focus, and occasional over-emotional focus.
Intent in this present physical focus: Sharon, sharin, sharing, and share.

Other focuses of mine that I wish to share in this moment:
Egyptian Queen:
Ankhesenpaaten or Ankhesenamon, or more simply known as Mrs. Tut.
Greek Goddess:
Mnemosyne, the dictionary queen, and mother of the muses.

That pretty well says it all for now!

PS: If it's not fun, don't do it.

three blind mice

three blind mice
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

THE WAY IT IS
(simplified version)

I have way too much free time!

I have a theory. I think people get sick as an excuse to take drugs. That's a hard way to go, cause drugs are so much better when you're not sick.

Someone accused me of using bad words. I don't know how words get bad. They are simply sounds, with judgment. Maybe they don't wipe their muddy feet before entering.

Speaking of evil. There is no evil. What would that be? Murder? Thou shalt not kill? That's not even number one on the top ten morality list, in order of importance. You'll be going straight to hell for a graven image anyway. Who's without graven image? I have three, maybe four, myself. See ya in hell!

I'm so lucky not to have any kids to worry about, or feel guilty over. I have some offspring, but they create their own reality. They have shifty kids, but it isn't my problem. What I do have, is a life.

I don't understand that belief about no pain, no gain. What is the point? Those with the most toys win? Win what? The chance to go to heaven and be bored as hell?

Just imagine Mormon heaven where the only color is white. No more green jello! Damn!

I think it is so interesting that authority figures point fingers at authority figures. They obviously hold a belief in authority figures. I, however, create my own reality.

I used to live for a relationship, but I wasn't having that much fun working that hard at it. And the relationship, which is not a person, but a limitation of expectation, went on permanent vacation in Europe using my credit cards. I consider that ID theft. Who should I complain to?

impression is

impression is
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Dear Blog;

Or dear diary

this is secret

kept under lock and key.

But as exposed

as any photo

you designate as pornography.


Alas,

duplicity!

the spider inside her

If cleanliness is next to godliness, then I fail.

My dust bunnies are covered in spider webs.

I can't keep up with it. Spiders, spiders everywhere. Spiders that can poop silk out their ass, and cover my home with iridescent webs in rainbow hues of dewdrop quality.

When I sweep them away, they magically reappear.

Reminding me

that I'm connected

like the web of the internet.

I told, a vold, to go to hell

Well, not really. Not yet.

I'm thinking about, how to tell, to go to hell, without holding judgment.

That is the challenge.

What is hell anyway? A place where all the sinners go?

And who is without sin?

I'd imagine hell to be a lively place. Full of those who reverse evil into live.

Those who know,

that good is it's own reward of self sacrifice.

If you want to have a life, as in live...

go to hell.

Melpomene

Melpomene
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Vold

do you know what it means to miss new orleans?

Any Tumold belonging worth the salt, knows that New Orleans is the city of death. Not that that is bad, but that it is as colorful and spellbound, as its cemetery ghost voodoo vampire tour.

Of course, Tumold aligns may miss this simple fact, as inclined and directed as they are within their intent of search, rescue, and over-medicate. Not that that is bad either, it is not. For there is no bad within consciousness, as consciousness itself doesn't hold judgment or grudges, it leaves that to individual value or morality assessment. And thank goodness for that, I'd hate to think I could 'piss off' consciousness itself.

It's just that culture speaks volumes, that may not be heard in the over-zealousness of rescue workers intent on saving those who do not wish to be saved, or perhaps have no need of being saved. Saved from what?

I dub New Orleans the mysterious indigo of the Tumold belonging variety. Something from deep well recesses that springs of the idea that the intent of 'return to natural state' may contain things hereto thought of as unsavory, or even immoral. What made me think that was from listening to the expressions communicated over television, radio, and internet.

I hear two different distinct viewpoints. One looking in, seeing poverty, and lack, and rebellion. And feeling confusion, but also great sympathy and compassion, and an overwhelming desire to restructure.

And one looking out, seeing a unique culture so expressive within rich imagination that it extrudes delights of smells and flavors, with jazz running naked and rampant through its streets, all in the freedom of expression of the Mardi Gras of bright primary colors. It is a people so connected with their environment that they flow with the current of the river, no matter her variations of feast and famine, like those people of ancient Egypt whose souls were composed of the very soil of the Nile. It would be too difficult to leave behind, as difficult as cutting out one's heart and depositing it by the wayside.

"Saving us from what?" New Orleans says, looking out.

"We're saving you from death!" The outsiders yell, looking in.

New Orleans laughs out loud, and then proceeds to attend to the most important subject of the moment. How to get the music turned back on so that the after hurricane party can continue.

"Death, death. Don't you hear us? Ugly, grusome, horrible death. Death that must be avoided at all costs!"

"What?" says New Orleans. "You want to go on the cemetery ghost voodoo vampire tour? It's been rained out. Call tomorrow."

"No, no!" The outsiders yell. "We don't want to experience death like that. Not the way you do! With it not in the shadows, but instead propped in the neon lit corner, grasping a oozing bloody mary, and tapping it's skeleton foot to zedico. We want to save you from death!"

"Save us from what?"

"DEATH!"

"Everybody dies, sooner or later."

"Yes, we know that. But we don't face it like you do, looking it directly in the eye and determining that you can play with it like the doll of voodoo that it is. A mere inconvenience in the transition process from one plane to another. No, no. We don't address it that way, we address it with sanitary and discrete body bags zipped tight to hide any evidence. We address it with horror and distaste, cause we hold a fear we can hardly describe, except perhaps, in ghostly tales of lore. But.. but..., we want to save you from it."

"What?" says New Orleans. "You want to go on the cemetery ghost voodoo vampire tour? It's been rained out. Call tomorrow."

"You don't understand, we want to help you!"

"HELP? Oh, okay. Bring party supplies."

sinking

sinking
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

that sinking feeling...

Aurora Watch

It's the middle of the night, and I have the urge to write. I don't know where that came from, cause my creativity has been directed in other areas lately. But now it wants to peek through in terms of written expression, and I've learned to pay attention to my impulses, and what they themselves express in waves, and give myself the option to do as I please, when I please. When my impulses change, I change with them so easily now, I have to remind myself that I have eased myself into a different dimension. But now, at least, I notice my own energy fluxuations. My own emotional ebb and flow.

I'm waiting for Aurora, as she is due to arrive. But in Greek, Aurora is Eos, Goddess of the Dawn, and she arrives every morning like crystal clockwork, so I can also pleasantly wait for her arrival in familiar tones of pink and blue, as soft as the smell of baby powder and as silent as new fallen snow.

As one gets older, one learns to stop and smell the roses, which of course requires one to be within the now moment, every moment. For the now moment is the all that exists. It seems a shame to me to allow the now moments to float by, with no appreciation for each and every taste of its deliciousness. And it leaves little desire for me to plan for the future, for there is no future, else it be the culmination of the choices I make in the now moment, as I wander.

I got to thinking about dimensions, as it will be easy to slip into another dimension, almost unnoticed, when the electromagnetic auroras fill the sky.

I always thought of dimensions as places. Somewhere one went to, and when one arrived, things were different in some manner. I suppose that holds some truth. But I was remembering the wit of Ron White, as he tells a story of going to a dimension of "pissed off" where he has never been before! Dimensions aren't necessarily places, as much as emotional expression directed by my focus of attention. I can travel through three four dimensions just getting to the living room. The dimensions of creative rearranging and cleaning.

I'd say dimensions are sometimes more like night dreams. I don't really go anywhere, I just redirect my attention, but that reality is as real as any other reality when I am participating. And that includes, dreams lite; also known as day dreaming, hallucinations, illusions, delusions, imagination, and other known delights.

The Greeks weren't far off when they chose to personify emotions as their gods and goddesses, cause Anger can take me by the hand and show me previously unseen sights. Demonstrated to myself within the action of my doing, as though my doing self is some sort of stranger leading me astray in an ocean of emotion, similar to Tyler in Fight Club.

I suppose I could proclaim the devil made me do it, but I choose to think of it more as a goddess or a muse, showing me my full range of capabilities, as unleashed as they may be. The Goddess of Anger is as much a creativity motivator as any muse.

I get that dimensions can be that place that someone refers to when they say, "don't go there!" Meaning a mental there, rather than a physical there. And that 'there' is composed of emotions coupled with my own feelings self worth at that moment in time, and any bad/good or right/wrong beliefs I wish to sprinkle on top of it.

Smells can transport me to the dimension of reminisce, taste to the dimension of revive, and music to a dimension I've yet to define, other than to say it is best with earphones that blot all else. Earphones tuned to the inner tone of my soul, and speaking the messages of my heart.

Excuse me...

Gotta go...

Brilliant Eos is here.

storm of 911-'05

storm of 911-'05
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

fireworks to follow...

for fireworks information see:
www.spaceweather.com/

blind eye

blind eye
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

...for you are operating within your belief systems and you are not listening or noticing the communication, for you are blocking that and blinding yourself to this within your belief systems.

keys to acceptance 1

keys to acceptance 1
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

self acceptance

keys to acceptance 2

keys to acceptance 2
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

self acceptance

keys to acceptance 3

keys to acceptance 3
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

self acceptance

keys to acceptance 4

keys to acceptance 4
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

self acceptance

candy store

candy store
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

perception
perception
perception

distant

distant
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

that distant feeling

light on

light on
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

angels, cats, dragonflies, oh my!

fuzzy peach

fuzzy peach
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

a peach of a personality

reflect

reflect
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

you reflect
what you project

do you mind?

do you mind?
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

self sacrificing is not a reward and it does not yield reward

vanilla sky

vanilla sky
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

DREAM MISSION

MISSION POSSIBLE

MISSION POSSIBLE
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

YOUR ASSIGNMENT SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO ACCEPT

dreamstate

dreamstate
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

message from Margot
uploaded on July 16th

transition

transition
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

haunting

the lunatic

the lunatic
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

transition indigo

transition indigo
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

return to a natural state

blueprint

blueprint
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

meritaten

meritaten
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Queen Meritaten

Queen of Transition

I’m a new pair of eyes everytime I am born
An original mind because I just died
And I’m scanning the horizon
For someone recognizing that I might have been queen
For every sun that sets there is a new one dawning
For every empire crushed there is a brand new nation
Let the waters rise, I have ridden each tide
From the gates of the city where the first born died

And I might have been queen
I remember the girl in the fields with no name
She had a love
But the river won’t stop for me
No, the river won’t stop for me

I’m a new pair of eyes, an original mind
With my senses of old and the heart of a giant
And I’m searching through the wreckage
For some recollection that I might have been queen
For every sage that falls there’s an ancient child

And I might have been queen
I remember the girl in the fields with no name
She had a love
But the river won’t stop for me
No, the river won’t stop for me

I look up to the stars with my perfect memory
I look through it all and my future is no shock to me
I look down but I see no tragedy
I look up to my past, a spirit running free
I look down, I look down and I’m there in history

But, I’m a soul survivor

A soul survivor
On the river
But it won’t stop

A soul survivor
On the river
But it won’t stop

A soul survivor
On the river
But it won’t stop

A soul survivor
On the river
But it won’t stop

A soul survivor
On the river
But it won’t stop

A soul survivor
On the river
But it won’t stop

A soul survivor
On the river
But it won’t stop

A soul survivor
On the river
But it won’t stop

Tina Turner - Private Dancer



QUEEN MERITATEN

Meritaten ("Beloved of Aten") was the eldest daughter of the union between the then called Amenhotep IV and Nefertiti. Her pet name was "Mayati", and she was refered to as such in at least one official correspondence. She may have been born while Amenhotep IV (Akhenaten) was still the Crown Prince, or as late as year 2 of Amenhotep's reign as Pharaoh of Egypt. She was probably born in the palace at Waset (Thebes) but since the royal family had traditionally had many residences, she could have been born virtually anywhere-- except Akhet-Aten (Tell el-Amarna) as the new capital had not been built yet.

In about year 6 or so, Princess Meritaten, her two little sisters; Meketaten, and (the baby) Ankhesenpaaten; and her parents moved to Akhet-Aten. Her father became Neferkheperure-Wa'enre Akhenaten and her mother's name became Nefernefruaten-Nefertiti. Within 5 years, three more princesses are born, Nefernefruaten Ta-Sherit, Nefernefrure, and Setepenre.

In year 14 or 15, Nefertiti dies, falls from favor, or becomes co-regent, and Meritaten replaces her in many inscriptions. Whether Akhenaten married his daughter in the full sense of the word is still debated, but the appearance of another princess, Meritaten ta-Sherit ("Little Meritaten" or "Meritaten the Younger") raises this question. Although many scholars believe this child to be the daughter of Meritaten and Akhenaten, it is possible that Meritaten ta-sherit was the child of Akhenaten and one of his secondary wives, or even the child of Meritaten and her next husband, Smenkhkare (if he was indeed a he).

It is generally assumed that Prince Smenkhkare ruler for a brief period after the Akhenaten's death. At this time, Meritaten was the Great Royal Wife of Ankhkheperure Djeserkheperu Smenkhkare. Both Meritaten and Smenkhkare died shortly after Akhenaten's death. The second princess, Meketaten, was also dead. So it fell to the third princess, Ankhesenpaaten, to fill in the role of the Great Royal Wife. Following her eldest sister's footsteps, the 12 or 13 year old Ankhesenpaaten was married to the heir to the throne, the next Pharaoh of Egypt, the 9 or 10 year old Tutankhaten.

death in the family

death in the family
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

redrock fire
july, 2005
las vegas, nv

Session 390

ELIAS: In this playfulness, there is, many times, moments that the energy may be felt by individuals within physical focus, such as yourself. There is momentary periods in which individuals within physical focus may experience twinges or a knowing of a presence or certain unusual experiences that within physical focus you express to yourselves is merely your imagination and not necessarily reality.

I express to you, in these situations, the individuals – the focuses which are moving within transition – are not projecting themselves back, in your terms, to physical locations or physical reality, but in a manner of speaking, their energy in this playfulness is “spilling” and is felt by individuals within physical focus, for you are all connected. There is no separation. You merely view that there is a separation, for your attention is very singularly focused within physical creations, but there is a very thin veil – very thin – between yourselves and the individuals that you view to be dead.

I express to you that the area of transition within consciousness is a very closely related layer of consciousness to physical focus. You engage with myself, (grinning) and the area of consciousness that I occupy is quite removed from this physical dimension, but the reality and the possibility of engaging another essence and experiencing the energy of that essence, such as myself, is evident.

Therefore, why shall you be surprised if you are experiencing moments that you feel the energy of those individuals that you know, and you hold a knowing of the identification of their energy? They are within an area of consciousness that is, in your terms, divided from you by a very thin film.

dream imagery 2

dream imagery 2
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

exposure

shifty kids

shifty kids
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

translation

translation
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Lost in Translation

VICKI [asking a question on Mary’s behalf]: ‘I would like to know about the level of distortion through a channel, and how much distortion is involved with me.’

Original English Text:
ELIAS: Interesting question! I have discussed this issue previously. Many individuals incorporate much distortion. I will also express to you all, that given even what you would view to be a perfect channel, as you would express, there will always be an element of distortion, for you incorporate language. Therefore, the concepts must be turned and molded to fit to your language, to which you may understand.

Translated to French:
ELIAS : Question intéressante ! J'ai discuté cette issue
précédemment. Beaucoup d'individus incorporent beaucoup de
déformation. Je vous exprimerai également tout, ce donné même ce
que vous visualiseriez pour être un canal parfait, car vous
exprimeriez, là serez toujours un élément de déformation, parce
que vous incorporez le langage. Par conséquent, les concepts doivent
être tournés et moulés à l'ajustement à votre langage, auquel
vous pouvez comprendre.

Translated back to English:
ELIAS: Interesting question! I discussed this exit previously. Many
individuals incorporate much deformation. I will also express you all,
this given even what you would visualize to be a perfect channel,
because you would express, there will be always an element of
deformation, because you incorporate the language. Consequently, the
concepts must be turned and moulded with the adjustment with your
language, to which you can include/understand.

Translated to German:
ELIAS: Interessante Frage! Ich behandelte diesen Ausgang vorher. Viele
Einzelpersonen enthalten viel Deformation. Ich drücke Sie allen auch
aus, dieses gegeben, sogar was Sie sichtbar machen würden, um zu sein
eine vollkommene Führung, weil Sie ausdrücken würden, dort sind
immer ein Element der Deformation, weil Sie die Sprache enthalten.
Infolgedessen müssen die Konzepte mit der Justage mit Ihrer Sprache
gedreht werden und geformt werden, zu der Sie include/understand
können.

Translated back to English:
ELIAS: Interesting question! I treated this output beforehand. Many
individuals contain much deformation. I also express you all, this
given, even which visible you would make, around to be a perfect
guidance, because you would express, there am always an item of the
deformation, because you contain the language. Consequently the
concepts with the adjustment with your language must be turned and
formed, to which you can include/understand.

Translated to Italian:
ELIAS: Domanda interessante! Ho trattato in anticipo questa uscita.
Molti individui contengono molta deformazione. Egualmente li esprimo
tutti, questo dato, persino che visibile fareste, intorno per essere
un consiglio perfetto, perché esprimereste, là sempre un articolo
della deformazione, perché contenete il linguaggio. Di conseguenza i
concetti con la registrazione con il vostro linguaggio devono essere
girati e formati, a cui potete include/understand.

Translated back to English:
ELIAS: Interesting question! I have dealt in advance payment this
escape. Many individuals contain much deformation. Equally I express
them all, this data, that even visible you would make, around for
being a perfect council, because you would express, here always an
article of the deformation, because you contain the language.
Consequently the concepts with the recording with your language must
be turn to you and form to you, to which you can include/understand.

Translated to Portuguese:
ELIAS: Pergunta interessante! Eu tenho negociado adiantado o pagamento
este escape. Muitos indivíduos contêm muita deformação.
Ingualmente eu expresso-os todos, estes dados, que visível uniforme
você faria, ao redor sendo um conselho perfeito, porque você
expressaria, aqui sempre um artigo da deformação, porque você
contem a língua. Conseqüentemente os conceitos com a gravação com
sua língua devem ser-lhe volta e formulário a você, a que você
pode include/understand.

Translated back to English:
ELIAS: Interesting question! I have negotiated the payment in advance
this escape. Many individuals contain much deformation. Ingualmente I
express them all, these data, that visible uniform you would make,
around being a perfect advice, because you it would express, here
always an article of the deformation, because you they will count the
language. Consequently the concepts with the writing with its language
must be to it rollback and form you, the one that you can
include/understand.

Translated to Spanish:
ELIAS: ¡Pregunta interesante! He negociado el pago por adelantado este
escape. Muchos individuos contienen mucha deformación. Ingualmente I
expreso ellos toda, estos datos, que el uniforme visible usted
haría, alrededor de ser un consejo perfecto, porque usted que
expresaría, aquí siempre un artículo de la deformación, porque
usted ellos contará el lenguaje. Por lo tanto los conceptos con la
escritura con su lenguaje deben ser a él restauración no actualizada
y formarle, el que usted puede include/understand.

Translated back to English:
ELIAS: Interesting question! I have negotiated the payment in advance
this escape. Many individuals contain much deformation. Ingualmente I
express they everything, these data, that the visible uniform you
would do, around being a perfect advice, because you that you would
express, here always an article of the deformation, because you they
will count the language. Therefore the concepts with the writing with
their language must be to him updated restoration and not form to him,
the one that you can include/understand.

trigger window

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Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

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MIRROR

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Action of Death

I have expressed to you previously that although you view the action of death as moving into an area of consciousness where you shall be incorporating the position of ‘God’ and ‘knowing all,’ you shall never know all, for you are continuously, as are all essences, as is The Creating Universal One And Whole also, in a continuous state of becoming; ever-changing, ever in motion. There is no destination. Elias - 111

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architect
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