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

trigger window
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

dream trigger - it could be a lightswitch

dream trigger

dream trigger
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Become lucid in your dream.

vanilla sky

vanilla sky
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

The Dream Mission
To explore.

MIRROR

MIRROR
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

meme nto

meme nto
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

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

beam me up

beam me up
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

stargate

stargate
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

total recall

total recall
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

waves of idea

waves of idea
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

exit-nice

exit-nice
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

signs

architect's cat

architect
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

light as a feather

light as a feather
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

message from margot

A couple of weeks before Margot left this world I found a white parakeet on the ground near some bushes as I walked into work. There was no one else around, although later a couple of people told me they'd seen this bird. I tried to catch it ... I knew it couldn't survive ... but it just scolded me and hopped out of my reach.

I worried about that bird all day and by the afternoon, I had devised a means to capture it. I took a plastic blank CD container top (tall one) out to the area where I'd seen this bird, and searched for it succeeding only in drawing the attention of the students walking past me. It was gone. The maintenance people told me that it was likely eaten by the hawks who had taken up residence in the bell tower and who had already eliminated all the squirrels on campus (I work at the University of Detroit Mercy).

So, I went home all sad that day.

The next day, I opened a little plastic container that I'd placed my vitamins in that morning to discover a white feather in there! I have NO idea how a white feather got into this container! But I scanned it (attached) since it was so bizarre! I made an instant connection to the white bird!

When Margot left this world, I "linked" to her both in essence and energy deposits. She brought that image of the white bird back to me and "told me" that this was associated with her. This was imagery of her movement ... this was a prelude to the event of her passing. And, she tells me now, the "bigger birds DID eat the little bird... but it wasn't destroyed, it was consumed."

Linda

Wendy&me

Wendy&me
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

January Castaic Session

axel

axel
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

cat language

birthed

birthed
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

you are birthed not deathed

no maps

no maps
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

no maps for this territory

message from giselle

Yeah...this is ME

I'm having a good time:) ME!...Please don't blame me...Ohhhh.,,I'm knocking myself out...Yes!...Don't try to tame me...Hey! Let me have my fun...I've got to have my fling...Some folks say I'm blowing my top...Talk, don't mean a thing:(

I'm having a fiesta while I'm living...Cause, tomorrow I may die...Yeah..That's why I'm having a ball today...I ain't passing nothing by:)

So if I make my bed hard...That's my problem...let me lay...I'm having a good time...Living my life today..Hey, hey, hey.

I say...I'm having a good time...Yeah!...Please don't blame me...I'm knocking myself out...Don't try to tame me...Let me have my fun...I've got to have my fling...Some folks say I'm snapping my cap,,,Talk, don't mean a thing:( Not, now.

I'm having my life while I'm living...Cause, tomorrow I may die...That's why I'm having a fiesta today...and I ain't passing nothing by...If I make my road rough...That's the price that I've got to pay:(

Not you!

I'm having a good time...Living my life today.

Love and ((((hugs)))
Alberta Hunter

final focus

final focus
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

essence of giselle

essence of giselle
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

loving you from the far side

Session 174

ELIAS: (Grinning and chuckling) As you disengage this physical focus in the action of what you term to be death, you shall enter a new country. This country shall hold a new language to you; which you shall spend, to your way of thinking, a time period adjusting to and learning this new language, just as you would similarly were you to relocate your physical self within this present now to another country upon your planet. In this, initially you shall retain some of your objective awareness; that which is tuned to this physical existence and is continuing to hold belief systems; this being the purpose of this transitional time period, to be undressing yourself of your belief systems. At this point, as you have shed your objective awareness and your belief systems, you shall move into an area of non-physical awareness and existence. In this area, you may choose from a myriad of elements of consciousness.

In this, as I have expressed in like manner to physically moving to another country upon your planet, you shall acclimate yourself to this new area of consciousness which shall specialize in certain endeavors, that which you are choosing to occupy your attention with; just as if you are relocating from your present country to Switzerland. You shall acclimate yourself to the terrain and the climate and the new language, but you shall not be incorporating the culture of Japan. You shall be incorporating the culture of Switzerland; this being in like manner to non-physical focus.

It is a belief system which is perpetuated by your religious beliefs, that as you “cross over to your other side,” which is not another side, (humorously) that you shall be all-knowing of all of the universe, and you shall be infinitely creating of whatever you are desiring of; this being the belief system of your enlightenment, your nirvana, your heaven, or what have you. In actuality, consciousness and essence seeks to explore itself continuously. It is within a continuous motion of becoming. There is no limit. There is no boundary to this action of becoming, and as you continue the action of becoming, you perpetuate the becoming. Therefore, you create the becoming as you accomplish the becoming. Therefore, how may you know all, as you have not created all yet? (Smiling)

Stevebirthday

Stevebirthday
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Hi Darlings,
My partner had his birthday on the 18th July. Included a pic taken by my 6 year old daughter on a digital camera. She insisted on taking this picture although she has never asked to use the camera before. Taken around 7.30pm 18.7.05 Australian time. Hello Margot :) What do you think?
love,
Margaret

message from margot

message from margot
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Session 509

I have a dream that I’d like to ask you about. It was a very out-of-the-ordinary dream for me because I was in China. If I dream that I’m someplace other than in the United States, it’s usually England or France or someplace like that. Anyway, this was in China, and I was traveling with a group. We were moving; it was very clear to me that we were going from the northern border of China directly south.

We were on a bus in the first part of the dream. Then we got to a hotel for the night. But then things began getting very confusing. I got into my room, and my room had very blue walls, which I would think you might have had something to do with ‘cause these were just bright blue walls. I couldn’t find where the rest room for this room was, where the bathroom was. I could hear water coming from the room next door – I could hear the sound of water – but I had no connecting door. And then I did find, on the other wall to my left, I found a bathroom there, and then I had a door.

And then the next thing that happened was that I went to decide what I was going to wear the next day, and I realized that on the entire trip, I hadn’t brought a suitcase, I hadn’t brought any clothes, and that upset me. And then there seemed to be a situation with food, and how we were going to eat and where we were going to eat, and it didn’t seem to get solved.

I couldn’t figure out ... in the dream, I was trying to figure out what town I was in, although I had seemed to have known that very well, and I kept thinking Beijing, but I knew I wasn’t in Beijing, and as I woke up, I was still in this very confused state.

The thought occurred to me that it might have been a focus of mine – I’m going to ask you a little more about that after a while – and then I thought it might have been a metaphor for death, because you had talked about how death or disengagement is like going to another country. Can you shed any light on this for me?

ELIAS: This is not the expression or bleed-through of another focus.

MARGOT: Okay.

ELIAS: What you have presented to yourself in this is the imagery concerning familiarity and the lack of familiarity, and you are correct in part – this also is expressed in symbology of the subject of what you term to be death, in that you have offered yourself the expression of imagery of how you search temporarily for those elements that appear to you objectively to be necessities and to be familiarities, and recognizable.

In this, you look to certain elements of the imagery as you are searching for or creating difficulty in obtaining those elements that you identify as necessities of life, so to speak – your lodging, your sustenance; also your conveniences, in your water closet.

MARGOT: Yes.

ELIAS: And you also hold importance in the identification of your location, for this allows you a sense of bearing, so to speak. But although you recognize within the dream imagery that the location is known to you, its identification also escapes you.

MARGOT: Yes.

ELIAS: This is the symbology that you offer to yourself in movement into this unfamiliar country – that you move into this area of consciousness subsequent to disengagement of physical focus or what you term to be death, and your physical objective imagery continues, but it is not entirely familiar.

There are what appear to be differences, and certain elements within that reality which previously appeared to be necessary do not appear to be quite as necessary, although you magnate in the direction of wishing them to BE necessary.

MARGOT: I see. I understand that completely. Thank you so much!

ELIAS: You are quite welcome.

peace be with you

peace be with you
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

breakfast

breakfast
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

ghost

ghost
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

into the light

into the light
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

the last mile

the last mile
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

two goddesses

We are two goddesses sitting around the dinner table of heaven, discussing the stage of physical reality as though it actually existed somewhere other than our images of imagination. And I re-member her human drama of greek tragedy acted too many times, and too long, as to have become somewhat automated, the way the plot of a love story is. There is only so many variations, and then it goes stale like the scent of the party the night before.

But the poor ole dear is in the actual stage of Alzheimer's where one realizes that the stage is just the illusion, and what is happening backstage is of much more interest. And then at that point one forgets to remember their lines, probably caused by repetition of a Sumafi nature, and now words have lost their meaning. It is just noise that comes from the mouth, to distract one from their behavior, like the two could possibly be faintly related.

You have to realize that two goddesses are like two muses, in that they are not expected to be beautiful all the time. In fact, beauty is a detriment if the expectations of heels are too high and slow you down. I mean beauty is fine if you wish to tame the dragon, but at some point you will have to become the dragon to get by to the treasure. And that point of power is in the now. Any now. Pick one.

So I may shake my head and think poor ole thing, just as senile as all get out. But I still re-member several episodes where at that point she turned into dragon lady with nine inch nails, and the special effects were astounding. It was so real even I cowered before it, and spilled my popcorn.

But all in all, fuck the last act. What I want to know is what comes first, after the last act. Cause, cause and effect, just means there is an effect, cause. And that there will be a slight intermission, and the feature continues in another dimension.

I can't muse upon this anymore than I have in this moment. But I respect the muse, the way I respect the goddess in all her many aspects. For the muse is nothing more than the faint breath of inspiration.

James and Margaret Reed

The originator of the Springfield party was an intelligent, headstrong businessman named James Frazier Reed, who was proud of the fortune he'd made in Illinois, but convinced he could do even better out west. His wife Margaret suffered from terrible sick headaches they hoped would improve in a better climate. With them were their four children: Virginia, Patty, James and little Thomas. Margaret's elderly mother, Sarah Keyes, came, too, so sick with consumption she could barely walk, but unwilling to be separated from her only daughter.

The Donners and the Reeds made a lavish entourage, 32 men, women and children in all, counting the Reeds's two hired servants and the seven teamsters who had answered George Donner's add to drive the big wagons. But the most extravagant luxury was the Reeds' family wagon, a two-story affair with a built-in iron stove, spring-cushioned seats and bunks for sleeping. It took eight oxen to pull the mammoth ark that 12-year-old Virginia Reed called ''the pioneer palace car.'' No one had ever seen anything like it.

grand canyon

grand canyon
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

grand canyon 2

grand canyon 2
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

evangeline

evangeline
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

pain

pain
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

pain is a perception

incorrect

incorrect
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

energyprojection

energyprojection
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Breathe

Breathe
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

westwardho's

westwardho's
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

the donner party party

emotional roller coaster

emotional roller coaster
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

hellllllp!!!!

Urania

Urania
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Gramada Essence Family
Representing the belief system of science

no doubt

no doubt
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

black&white

black&white
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

jaws

jaws
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

already know

already know
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

what matters?

what matters?
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

self trust and self acceptance

7th wave

7th wave
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

the golden state

elias

elias
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

I am an energy personality essence

light-heartedness

light-heartedness
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

life is too important to take seriously

nun

nun
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Vold

Vold
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

the hearers

hermes

hermes
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

messenger of the gods

borledim

borledim
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

the belief system of relationships

solstice

solstice
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

relationships

juno 22

juno 22
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

the wildfire of zuli

following

following
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

predictions

predictions
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

energy center - red

energy center - red
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

color is a truth

present

present
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

summer solstice

judgment

judgment
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

dwelling on a fault

inspiration

inspiration
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

life as art

iris

iris
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

the eye of iris

rabbithole

rabbithole
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

how deep does it go?

eureka

eureka
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

discovery

relaxation

relaxation
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

relieve stress

bodega bay

bodega bay
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

relieve stress

sandcastles

sandcastles
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

juno 17

nightvision

nightvision
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

subjectiveville

juno 16

juno 16
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Yoga

Yoga
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

yoga of the perception

intuition

intuition
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

information

fascination

fascination
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

mirror mirror

insight

insight
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

photo stream

Feel the Power

The BWD in 2003
July 15

Zeus Whether Report


Green Ilda will flood you with emotions, whether you’re crying in the rain, swimming in a sea of sorrow, or surfin’ the big wave in the sea of truth. Wax your bored, and surf’s up dude.

Yellow Vold is the intensity of emotion. You might hear some rumbling, and then experience an earthquake of Richter strength that spreads from the epicenter of self to the edges of your far reaching environment. This is a warning for anyone still dwelling on faults.

Purple Zuli is that smoldering fire of emotion that sweeps across the personal landscape when fueled by the winds of change.

Orange Gramada is that hurricane of force that pounds the self, and then rests slightly in the eye of perception before pounding once again.

Milumet Red is that deep crevasse of emotion, the tidal wave of feeling that builds across a sea of sensation, splashing upon the shore of periphery and wiping the slate clean.

Sumari Blue is the volcano of emotion, burning deep within the core of self, explosive in force and thereby burning the landscape new for creative rejuvenation.

Tumold Indigo is the selective tornado that only destroys those structures of no further use, thereby clearing a path for restoration to the natural state with the least amount of trauma.

Feel the Power

juno 14

juno 14
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

crescent moon

powerful

powerful
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

chills and thrills

top ten

top ten
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

back bone

1 pyramid scheme

1 pyramid scheme
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

the doing self creates your reality

2 information

2 information
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

from subjective to objective

3 mirror mirror

3 mirror mirror
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

from subject to object

4 projectionist

4 projectionist
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

the projectionist is the doing self

photo stream

photo stream
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

stream of impressions

instructions

instructions
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

photostream

imagination

imagination
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

The dragonfly, that sees through the illusions

deadguys 2

deadguys 2
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

What do dead guys say?

waveschool

waveschool
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

surfin' sumari

4queens

4queens
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

queens birthday uk

Juno 12

Juno 12
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

energy flow

outofmymind

outofmymind
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

labyrinth

tapestry

tapestry
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

the weave

color

color
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

color is a truth

counterpart action

counterpart action
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

enna (nine)

peacetrain

peacetrain
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

choose
choose
train

likemyself

likemyself
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Self Acceptance is the key

12 monkeys

12 monkeys
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

We Did It!

mind

mind
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

out of my mind

state of the union

state of the union
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

the map for this territory

aremature

aremature
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

are mature

simplelife

simplelife
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Don't be afraid to express yourself.

stepford

stepford
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

tumoldy

tumoldy
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Getting Moldy

pms

pms
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

medusa

trolling

trolling
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

control
control
control

shift

shift
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

shift happens
full speed ahead

surfin'sumari

surfin'sumari
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

memes

truthwave

truthwave
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

tsumari

bluemoon

bluemoon
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

moontide

orangealert

orangealert
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

tile
green/yellow/red - immune system
orange - desire/reproduction
blue - electric wave
red - sexual fire
indigo - perception/healing

pandemonium

pandemonium
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

pan diamon NYM
magenta - area 3

antonym

antonym
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

to voldy go where no man has gone before

bobbing

bobbing
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

public service announcement
brought to you by
Surfin' Sumari

Belief Filter

Belief Filter
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

From subjective to objective
From subject to object

Fight Reason

The BWD in 2003
February 22

Shift Movie Review
Fight Reason


Your world is about to be rocked.
See it in your local reality.
The collapse of the social structure.

And you open the door to step inside the self.

This is your life, good to the last drop. Doesn’t get any better than this. This is your life, this is your life, this is your life, this is your life, doesn’t get any better than this. There is NO better.

Welcome to Fight Club. If this is your first night, you have to fight.

Opening sequence. The flight of the impulse.


People are always asking me if I know Tyler Durden. For a few seconds I forget about that control demolition thing that I’m seeing all around me. I forget that Tyler is Jack’s doing self. That part of Jack that chooses. I guess they’re asking me if I know the part of Jack that chooses? What a strange question. Tyler and I are different aspects of the same focus. But it did take me a while to get to know him.

Suddenly I know that all of this has something to do with a girl named Marla Singer. I connect her name to marvelous singer, the speakers, Calliope the muse of the eccentric Sumari. Now I know that Marla is my personal muse of inspiration. But like all fantasy love stories I have to hate her before I can love her; break up and get back together before this can be defined as a love story.

For six months I couldn’t sleep. With insomnia nothing is real. Dreaming reality and waking reality merge into one. Everything is a copy of a copy of a copy. I start to blink out, that’s when I first realized the coming of Tyler. Well, maybe the feeling self did; certainly not the thinking self busily trying to interpret all that was happening to me.

It was Tuesday, he was wearing his horizon blue tie. Red flag. Red alert. My tribal instinct kicks in. I had almost forgotten the lingo of the corporate world that renames thereby redefining everything. Reprioritize my current reports, be advised of my status upgrade, make these my primary action items. What happened to my language translation? I don’t understand it anymore. Everything is duplicitous.

Red alert kicks up my nesting instinct. It used to be pornography that roused my primitive instincts, but now it’s replaced by the illusion of security. The concrete reinforced cell of my filing cabinet apartment. The concrete reinforced cells of my belief systems begging for release like a geyser building.

I am a victim, but a low status victim. I can’t release enough to offer to myself the support that I require unless I relinquish myself to some high status disease. But I don’t really like that choice, it’s just so disfiguring. That’s when I got another Tyler flash, I was looking to really open myself up. Perhaps I’ll choose something mental that’s just dysfunctional without the deformity. Must be that Zuli alignment. Pretend a crippled self in order to allow myself my own comfort and acceptance. My thinking self thought it didn’t want any sort of self-violence.

That’s when I met Bob consciousness, the common man in the painful process of change. And then something happened. I let go of all control. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom. It matters not. Babies don’t sleep this well.

I wasn’t really dying. I wasn’t host to cancer or parasites. I was the warm little center that the life of this world crowded around. I was paying total attention to myself. I was in tune with myself. I went within the cave of self and found that my power animal was a playful Sumari. Every night the old victim died, and the new victim was reborn. I had found the satisfaction in being a full-blown high status victim. Then she ruined everything.

This chick Marla Singer was a liar. She had no diseases at all. She was a perfect mirror of myself. Her lie reflected my lie. But she was my muse of inspiration, because of her I had another Tyler flash. I needed to create something better than victim to deal with my Marla muse. Victim no longer looked so good, more like a good humored subservient walking skeleton of human existence. If I did have a tumor I would name it Marla. I hated her. She made me realize that being a victim becomes an addiction.

Marla’s philosophy of life is that she might die at any moment. The tragedy is that she doesn’t. Marla is free of normal convention.

If you wake up in a different time, in a different place, do you wake up as a different person? On a long enough time line the survival rate for everyone drops to zero. Human recall. I prayed for the coming collision in order to accept my fate. I needed to establish a relationship with myself. That’s when Tyler, the most interesting single serving friend, manifested into flesh and blood. Tyler would only serve me.

Then by circumstance of the collision of fate, I destroyed all my material things, forcing instant change.

I called upon my muse, but I couldn’t connect. I didn’t know what to do until Tyler called me back. We are consumers, not creators, he says, while identifying my beliefs, one by one. We are the by-products of a life style obsession. Stop being perfect. Let’s evolve. Let the chips fall where they may. Things you own end up owning you. Then Tyler forced me to ask for his help.

I want you to do me a favor. I want you to hit me as hard as you can, he says.

But first…
let me tell you a little about Tyler. He is a night person. While the self is sleeping, Tyler is at work. He is the subjective self. He is the projectionist. The one that creates the projection of waking reality. He is in charge of the seamless changeover from one probability to the next. Every once in a while there is a blink in of recognition of Tyler’s contribution. Tyler’s attitude is to piss on everything.

I want you to do me a favor.
I want you to hit me as hard as you can, he says.

Tyler introduced me to my own self-conflict. How much can you know about yourself if you’ve never been in a fight? he says. Go crazy. No one is watching. It felt good. We should do this again sometime, I said.

And so we did. A total change of environment, complete with the hamster cage smell of wood chips. The recognition of the motivating factor of conflict. The recognition of the physical factor of pain that brings attention to self. Want to participate? Loosen your ties to concrete reality.

I am Jack’s doing self.
Without me Jack could not make choices.

After fighting, everything else got the volume turned down. I could deal with anything. I was no longer a victim. Most of the week we were Ozzie and Harriet, but every Saturday night we were Ozzie and Sharon. We were finding out more. We were finding out that we were not alone. Used to be if I came home angry and depressed, I just cleaned my condo. It was right on the tip of everyone’s tongue, Tyler and I just gave it a name. Conflict.

Every week we made up our own rules. Don’t talk, do. Don’t overwhelm yourself. Fight one dragon at a time. Fights will go on as long as they have to. If this is your first night you have to fight.

You weren’t alive anywhere like you were there. I am Jack’s physical self. No denying it. We started seeing things differently. Self improvement is mental masturbation. Self acceptance is not.

Fight club wasn’t about winning or losing. It wasn’t about words. After the fight was over, nothing was solved, but nothing mattered. Afterwards we all felt saved. Tyler spoke for me.

Then Marla caught me, I hadn’t been going to my support groups. You ever heard a death rattle before? she says.

Tyler’s door was closed. Now how could Tyler, of all people, think that the death of my inspiration was a bad thing? Then it all became a blur, interrupted only by the ringing signal of the telephone, followed by the messages that I was refusing to listen to. I am Jack’s cold sweat. The liberator destroyed my property and realigned my perceptions. The liberator caused me to reject the basic assumptions of civilization, especially the importance of material possessions. Tyler’s words were coming out of my mouth.

Fight club, this was my and Tyler’s gift to the world. The realization that violence is a choice. Violence is always self inflicted. We were working jobs we hate to buy things we don’t need. Only something so intense as violence could make us feel alive again. Violence to one another is not the most offensive, violence to self in the terms of self-loathing and self discounting is. We were fighting back to build self-esteem. How duplicitous can you get?

You had to give it to him, he started to make sense in a Tyler sort of way. No fear, no distractions. The ability to let that which does not matter truly slide.

You are not your job.
You are not how much money you have in the bank.
Not the car you drive.
You’re not the contents of your wallet.
I am Jack’s rage and anger.

Sooner or later we all became what Tyler wanted, although in retrospect, Tyler was what we wanted. What we wanted then was to stay within the familiar established religious structure of ready to sacrifice for the greater good. The belief in authority outside of the self that is greater and more powerful. Tyler was god.

And we became original sin. Maggots. Not special, not beautiful or unique snowflakes. The same decaying organic matter as everything else. Part of the same compost heap. All singing, all dancing crap of the world. Space monkeys. A sinful animal product.

Tyler built himself an army. Why was Tyler Durden building an army. For what purpose? For what greater good? No, it was because in Tyler we trusted. Do not fuck with us. I wanted to breathe smoke. I had gone from fighting the dragon, to being the dragon. I decide on my own level of involvement.

Forget about what you think you know, about life, about friendship, and especially about you and me, he says. What does that mean? Who is Tyler Durden? I am Jack’s complete and utter disgust. Stop trying to control everything and just let go, Tyler yells. LET GO!

And I do, anticipating the collision.

And then Tyler was gone. Was I asleep? Had I slept? Was Tyler my bad dream? My reality had changed. It had become a living thing of its own. I am all alone. I am Jack’s broken heart. I need to bury it all. I need to find Tyler and kill him. I am living in a state of constant déjà vu.

Then I am Jack’s complete surprise. I AM Tyler Durden. Please return your seat backs to their full upright position. We have just lost cabin pressure.

I was looking for a way to change my life. I could not do this on my own. All the ways I wished I could be, that’s what Tyler is. He looks like I want to look, he fucks like I want to fuck, he’s smart and capable and most importantly, he’s free in all the ways that I am not. People do it every day. They talk to themselves. They see themselves as they would like to be. They don’t have the courage I have, to just run with it. I am Jack’s doing self.

I am in-sane. It’s called the changeover. The movie goes on, and nobody has any idea. It’s the seamless transition from one probability to the next. Have I been going to bed earlier every night? Have I been sleeping later? Has the veil dropped between waking and sleeping realities? Can I not tell the difference? Déjà vu over and over again.

I am Jack’s doing self. I am the part of Jack that chooses. What am I choosing? What do I really want? I confess. I want to collapse the social structures. I want to erase the debt record, then we all go back to ground zero. Start over. I don’t want to owe anyone anything. I want to be free of karma and dogma.

I’m not in a movie, I am the movie.
I’m not in a dimension, I am the dimension.

I am now firing a gun at my imaginary friend. I realize I am beating my own self up. I can see it clearly now, in black and white. This is it, the beginning. Ground zero. I take the responsibility for me. It’s all me.

I put the trust in me.
Everything’s going to be all right.
These are strange times.

Roll credits.



Shift movie rating: Five stars for all the indigo children of any age. Those innocents beating themselves up to institute change. (Indigo, the combination of black and blue. A different perception.)

doing self

doing self
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

I am Jack's doing self
Without me, Jack could not make choices

castaic

castaic
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Mr. E's Diner

gramada

gramada
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

The Dream Artists

the last act of camille

camille
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Some acts cannot be followed

transition

cafe
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

cafe at the end of the known universe off inner-state 15

exhausted

exhausted
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

The Mass Belief Bus
v.2000

NO CONTROL

Self Government Document

Highly secret information
Confidential

Warning: This information includes the words enlightenment, school, ancient, secret, and wisdom.

For your eyes only



The Illuminati Defined - Ancient Secret Wisdom

(translation: The Illuminated explained in 5 easy steps.)

******

1. To Notice
v. (action)
To accord emphasis, to emphasize, italicize, accent, accentuate, feature, focus on, highlight, mark, play up, point, punctuate, set off, spotlight, stress, underline or underscore. Common usage: Notice, notice, notice.

The Nym mind fuck -
Anto Nym - de-emphasize, play down, underplay, or constantly judge what you notice as bad/good or right/wrong.

******

2. To Translate
v. (action)
To make clear or clearer, explain, clarify, delineate, formulate, disambiguate, elucidate, explicate, illustrate, interpret, spell out, or define. Common usage: to translate the information that you noticed through your own beliefs filter.

The Nym mind fuck -
Anto Nym - obfuscate, confuse. Common usage: get on the hamster wheel.

******

3. To Direct
v. (action)
To enable to understand, enlighten, edify, educate, illumine, improve, irradiate, uplift, guide, instruct, direct, school, show, teach, train, or tutor. Common usage: get off the hamster wheel and make a choice.

The Nym mind fuck -
Anto Nym - mystify, perplex, bewilder, and confound. Common usage: Confused, confused, confused. Why am I creating this?

******

4. To Objectify
v. (action)
To illustrate with drawings, prints, or engravings, illustrate with a picture. Common usage: projection of physical reality.
v. (action)
To make manifest or noticeable feature, emphasize, bring out, develop, display, focus on, set off, spotlight.

No Nym mind funk - fuck with it yourself. Common usage: abstract imagery.

******

5. Value Fulfillment
v. (action)
To provide, cover, or fill with brightness, light, brighten, illumine. Common usage: This is the best fucking thing I've ever created.

The Nym mind fuck -
Anto Nym - darken. Common usage: This is the best worst fucking thing I've ever created.

*******

Highly Confidential Source: (also known as deep throat)
Roget's Deluxe Thesaurus, see: illuminate

(However, no definition found for "thesaurus". See Geek dictionary.)


Geek dictionary:

The Saurus
Classification: Nym ph

Young and beautiful female spirit of trees, water and other aspects of nature. Neither human nor immortal. Also known as the Syno Nym. Most distinguishable attribute is a large set of freedom wings and the ability of ease of movement. This unusual creature has the innate ability to see other options, and choose from many, many, different choices.

The Nym mind fuck -
Anto Nym - A large carnivorous dinosaur of the reference type.

Disaster Train

Stardate: 05.30.05

Warning: The following is hazardous to your mental health.

This is a terrible story. In fact, if I were you, I'd stop reading it right now, and your life will be much improved by only knowing happy endings. Of course, they are fiction, cause faction is in the newspaper, and it seldom ends happy. In fact, it seldom ends at all, it just goes on and on like the never ending story.

So stop.

This is a fairy tale, as Tinker-bell green as I can get it. If you decide to ride along, I suggest you tighten your seat belt a few notches, so it actually does somewhat crinkle your pants, and rub the left teat raw.

Now you're all strapped in, what could possibly happen?

Never the less, this is an awe-full story. Just awe-full beyond your oscar wildest imagination, imaging that it creates its own dreams. Imagination making images in its head. Colorful images that seep out through the cracks of the cortex and matrix themselves into some much more interesting reality, where Morpheus is the son of the God of Sleep, Somnus. And all he wants you to do is make a choice, red or blue, pick one.

One you go forever forward.

And one you sink back into Lethe, the river of forgetfulness, where you just smash against the obstacles, like breaking waves of consciousness. Leastwise till you learn to surf.

But more about that later.

First. Make a choice.

Red means S T O P. I believe you are familiar with that, as there is one on every street corner.

So stop now.

Do not read any further.

Just tell yourself that was the fucking most excellent piece of work that you've read in years, and perhaps you should send the author a dollar or two, just for the fun of it. There is just nothing like having a pay pal.

However, should you select blue, you are in unfamiliar territory. Because there is nothing like a Sumari on the loose with good drugs, and Subjectiveville is only one attention away, if you take the transition train on track number 9. Or maybe it is eight and a half, and a secret doorway opens to another dimension. I can't re-member.

Anyway, I mean you will have to get out of Lethe, the river of forgetfulness, dry yourself off, take off your camouflage, and perhaps blow dry your hair. Then you will have to deal with Mnemosyne, the Goddess of Remembrance, that will be telling you shit you may not exactly want to hear, while Charon rows you across the River Styx to Happy Ass Fields. And do remember that is not a free ride. (See: Edith Hamilton Mythology, pg. 39, copyright 1940. Definite Sumafi.)

So make the choice now.

And yes, it is a either/or choice, cause at this point you are not aware of the other many choices that exist outside the boundaries and limitations of the old, worn out, and broken down, mass belief bus. Driven by Norm, Al.

So you have to really want to go there.

Whatever that means.

I'll wait...

:-)





You Have Selected Blue

Blue feels that life is much too important to take serious. Or, Sirius Black for that matter, cause black does take things serious, if it regards doing some serious judging for those serius black and white issues.

But blue is blue.

You can call this blue, Aqua Duck Blue, Quack, Quack.

Aqua Duck Blue is the blue of a channel, or a current of information. Aqua Duck Blue has many curious properties, that I won't go into now, suffice to say that Aqua Duck Blue really doesn't go anywhere, but does have subterranean outlets that could swallow a lake in the previously known as Russia.

Aqua Duck Blue is very powerful. I don't know how it got that way. It is somewhat electrical in summer, enough to dim the lights for at least a quarter mile, and make computers annoyingly dysfunctional. And it is somewhat outspoken, like every Quack is.

Aqua Duck Blue is playful like a duck out of water, adorned with feet of web, and bill of orange. I'll tell you about Bill of Orange later, but right now, I hope you have an image of the Duck. It might try to sell you assurance.

Quacks me up.





I'd Like to Tell You That Things Are Just Ducky.

But they're not. NO NO. Shift is happening, and it is up to your red knees by now, and you might find movement quite difficult. You may call this movement Wade.

(Advice to future mothers to be. Never call your kid Wade. Call him some hot surf name like Big Kahuna. This advice is highly valid. This advice, should you take it, is 25 cents. Cash, check, money order, visa, no american express.)

Anyway, wading like fording is not fun if the current is swift. The approved method is surfing, where you finally stand up for yourself, cause you're just so bored. For this you may use your irony bored, if you have one handy. Otherwise you may body surf, even though that is not nearly as elegant on video.

Body surfing is like wading done horizontal. The problem is that you can't really notice where you are going other than where the current will take you, as you are deprived of a steering mechanism, unless you thought to bring along a set of ors.

But usually body surfing is the result of accidental Wade during flash flood season. You don't remember you even needed ors until one minute before the tsunami hits. Ors are choices, and you should have many with you at all times. Like water wings.

You may also purchase a non boring board and paint it in dramatic Hawaiian colors for intentional surfing. It should have a fin like a shark, belly up. Self steering is possible. *****Highly recommended. (No charge for this advice. See: refund policy.)

Surfing lessons will soon be available from Surfin' Sumari for a nominal fee. Tapes are twelve dollars, and that is only .10 per minute, and much less if you listen many times. You can even make money at home if you charge your boss, friends, or relatives for listening. Tell them they belong to the pyramid club. I'll keep you posted.

I'm sure glad I got that nasty marketing business out of way right away. This is excellent information, and I don't want you to think that I would give it away free. You can dial, 1-900-SHIFTSUCKS, for more direction about where to send your hard earned money.

The information will include the words enlightenment, school, ancient, secret, and wisdom, even though none of those may actually apply. (See fine print.)

Global Seminar Workshops are being considered, as long as they are no more than five miles from my home. There will be no advertising, other than some over zealous boss, friend, or relative acting much like a Stepford Wife. They will not be able to tell you what the seminar is about. I think it is a pyramid sceme.

The Seminar is about two days, give or take an afternoon, graduation rites, and two year apprenticeship. The Seminar is also .10 per minute, but reduced to .09 per minute for early registration, and full payment in advance. Non refundable.

Tee shirts, coffee cups, and cheap pens are optional.

No camera or recording equipment allowed. (See: Protecting/Freedom in the oxymoron dictionary, right next to Self Matters/Family First.)





Bob Consciousness

Oh, oh, oh, this is a terrible story. I warned you.

But now I assume you've made your personal commitment by swallowing the blue pill, and now you're just waiting for it to slowly dissolve under your tongue, and the promised bliss to set in. But we are far, far away from Bliss. A good 400,000 or so miles, set the odometer and turn left at the last chance gas station. You'll recognize Bliss, it has two trees. You won't like it.

This is a story about the shift.

I know you've heard lots of stories about the shift in consciousness, many of them religious. And you probably have yourself, if you admit to it, lit some candles, and incense, and chanted at the proper decibel for reality creation equal to wish desperately. Please. Please. Please. Think only good thoughts, only good thoughts, cause good thought, if soaked heavily in wish, will create reality.

And yes, consciousness itself has a good/bad meter where it judges heavily any vibration emitting from the indigo area that could possibly be admittance to Hell. I know this for a faction. Consciousness reads your private email, and judges it. It checks your back account, and makes sure you self deny anything closely associated with Pleasure, the first cousin to Bliss.

So if you still want to go to Bliss, you have to go through Pleasure several times, in order to get there.

It's a labyrinth.

And here is the scary part. You could become addicted to Pleasure. I mean after you've been through it several times, it grows on you. And that's a fact.

Never the less, consciousness itself has a conscience, and it judges. It has only two categories, good, and don't even think about it. Seriously, don't think about it. Like don't notice the blue elephant.

Thought kills.

Thought alone has never been correctly dissected, but for some reason it moves like clouds, and you don't want to have any while you meditate. But you do. It is a most wonderful time to make the grocery list, and worry about the future. Perhaps reprogram your cell phone, and feel a little guilty about something, somewhere, in the past.

This type consciousness actually has a name. I like to call it Bob. That's so easy, cause it is the same forwards and backwards. I could easily call it Otto, as there is another name you just can't hardly screw up. But play along here, call this consciousness Bob, and it is the common belief.

And like I already told you, Bob Consciousness is all seeing and all knowing. It keeps a list sort of like Santa. And if you are not continuously on the A list, then there will be no toys in Bliss when you get there. But don't forget about the two trees.

The thing about Bob Consciousness, is that it gets so addicted to thought itself, it really doesn't have much time for driving through Pleasure. In fact, Bob himself really doesn't have his own reliable vehicle, much less a train. He spends most of his time on autopilot, on the mass belief bus, thinking about thought and doing some sight seeing. (Word alert. Redundant, as in hear music. What other way would there be?)

That's why Bob picks a name like Bob. It is quick, and get it over with, I need to think.

You might say Bob is so thought focused he is rather political and hair trigger cocked for debate.

Bob used to smoke and enjoy it. But it stained Bob's teeth yellow and brown, the color of jockey shorts. No, Bob gave up that last single pleasure about two years ago, and only misses it hourly. Bob does like to talk about it, however. Usually in the form of creating everyone else's reality for them, by seeing that they equally self deny. Misery likes company, and Bliss is way far away anyhow.

Bob does not create his own reality. There is another Bob that creates reality for him. (See why you need the simplicity of spelling?)

It is a very easy system, you might want to get a pencil and write it down. Bob is omnipotent and creates everyone else's reality for them, cause if they did it themselves, they would screw it up. And Bob is so busy, he has little time for his own creation of reality, so he has another Bob do it for him. That way he doesn't have to pay attention.

Bob, however, has flow charted his future on paper. Bob is a producer, and works hard, and there is a goal after all the tasks are completed in proper order, and on schedule, with a small allowance for acts of God. Oh, yes, Bob has a God. A supreme authority who is also omnipotent, and creates everyone else's reality for them so that they don't screw it up. He is heavy into punishment, sometimes by trials of fire. You can call that God, Bob also, just for simplicity sake. Cause you already know that that God is very busy, and doesn't have the time to create his own reality, so he has another Bob do it for him. It just goes on and on.

We all subjectively know Bob Consciousness, whatever level he is at.

Need I remind you that Bob Consciousness is very judgmental? You have to be when you're controlling the world like Bob is. Bob needs to make instant judgments automatically, within the only two categories now available, good (spelled like god, with an additional o. Redundant alert!), and of course the second and least favored category, don't even think about it, spelled bad.

Or you could also use right and wrong. Right is anything Bob agrees with, and wrong is everything else.

And Bob defends and justifies himself all the time. That's where the love to debate comes in handy. Bob loves to debate those items normally in the basket of "who gives a fuck?" Bob keeps statistics.

Bob gives a fuck, I assure you. Bob gives a fuck, cause the Bob creating his reality is not doing a good job. Bob is experiencing a bad reality, with no pleasure, but lots of expectation, and he can't even allow himself to smoke.

But to tell you the truth, I did see Bob sneak a couple of puffs a few days ago. Because he is going to have to fire the Bob creating his reality and replace him with some sort of consciousness upgrade, perhaps, Bob v2.5. This Bob does automatic filtration of bad/wrong, so that Bob doesn't have to think about it, and it also filters his email spam and checks for flaming.

Bob Consciousness v2.5 does have a small side effect like Viagra, you go blind, but maybe it won't be all that noticeable.

Bob is way into the movement of Wade, which is difficult. But Bob need only blame it on the Bob that is creating his reality for him, and fucking it up. At some point, Bob may even have to take over and do it himself.

Perish the thought.





The Movement of Wade

Most people don't think much about the movement of Wade, but it is difficult.

It is hard to know exactly how deep the water is, unless you watch the current.

Current is a very important statement, because current means now. I've mentioned Bill of Orange before, and I'm not quite to him. But he made a statement to me that made sense. The currency of the future will be information. And it needs to be current, and it needs to ebb and flow.

Current and currency regarding money are the same word in a sense. I don't mean to pull a Mnemosyne, but money is a medium of exchange. It is circulating, movement. It isn't the money. Money is simply the symbol for self worth. It is about the movement.

The movement of Wade impedes normal movement. It is always forceful, even if the current is mild. I suppose walking through deep snow would equate, but if you add the current, which means belonging to the present time, or now, then it increases the difficulty if it is a swift current.

There is also a milder current, that doesn't incorporate the movement of Wade. This current has a flow, a steady smooth onward movement, like a current of air, or a current of spoken words. It is like electricity, in that it is a flow of electric charge. Color it Sumari blue.

Wade is not blue. Wade is knee deep. Wade works hard to stay in the same place. Wade is a point of choice, whether to continue to hold, or to let go and swim.

Perhaps surf.

I'm getting to that.



The Mass Belief Bus


The Mass Belief Bus is brown for loyalty, with a big yellow stripe up its back. It has rusted in several places, and the tires are receding hairline bald.

Its windows are coated with grime, from centuries of belief, that have pitted the windshield and broken its spirit. It chugs along, spitting angry from its exhaust, and polluting the atmosphere.

Its seats are leather worn, and sometimes the springs poke through, but mostly it has lost its punch, and the seats look like a crater after the volcanic blast. The backs are never upright, and the plastic tray tables have long since disappeared, any evidence masked by silver duct tape.

The Mass Belief Bus was once proud like the Titanic, but now has a inoperable scrape across its side, and it knows it shall break in half, and sink to the ocean floor. It prays for salvation, but knows there is none. It is suffactaing to ride, but yet so familiar, one has forgotten that its constant belching cries for relief.

The Mass Belief Bus' only attribute is that it is always on schedule. It reluctantly moves from stop to stop, opening its welcome doors for admission with a whoosh. But the routine has driven its spirit into submission, and the horn of signal no longer works. When the tears of depression arrive, it only has one windshield wiper that is rotted and dysfunctional.

The Mass Belief Bus can't see where it is going, it just knows the worn path like an old stable horse.





The Mass Belief Bus Driver

NAME: Norm, Al
HEIGHT: Medium
WEIGHT: Medium large
SEX: Yes
RELIGION: Bob Consciousness
SCHOOLING: Medium small
EXPERIENCE: One size fits all
NUMBER OF OFFSPRING: Undetermined
WORK RECORD: Excellent





Who Watches the Watchman?


Anyway, I need to go on with this horrible story about the shift.

This is horrible, just horrible, and it is only going to get worse. I warn you there is no happy ending, only because it goes on and on and on and never ends. Day after day after miserable day.

And it was exactly like this the beginning of the last century, I remember. Everyone was meeting Wade and greeting him, but always wondered why they always found him somewhat annoying. He would prattle on with the unmerciful whining until all hours of the night. Everything for Wade is difficult.

But that was back in the time when the Mass Belief was not a bus, but a trolly. A colorful electric trolly, just fucking cutting edge. Everyone rode the trolly with pride, even Judy Garland sang a song why the trolly was so jolly. And I can see why. Woman were still limiting themselves with the coarsest of corset. They cinched their waist clear down to their ass, and that was attractive. Now you have to cut the ass off, and make more boobs. (Redundant alert: See if you remove the o you now have bob. Somehow it always goes back to bob.)

But it was a cutting edge time. Bob dressed real nice, wore a hat, and was a gentleman. Yes, they did gather together the eve of 1899, to see if the world would immediately end when the clock ticked over to 1900, like time is actually linear and achieves certain effects on its own. But when that didn't happen, it was party down for a while, get on the jolly trolly and ring the bell as your most outrageous expression. But it soon wears off, like a EST Seminar, and one runs into Wade more often than one wants.

That was the time of Madame Blavatsky, and she said hey, when things bog down, we could always start a religion. And that was even before it was tax exempt, so you know it was simply because it was cutting edge. There are rules however. First, it must be secret. Secret Ancient Enlightenment, with a school attached that makes it look like a Wendy's commercial, just oozing red on white.

But I do have to tell you that the Greeks did pretty well have it down. It was a recipe. They took a little Egyptian dogma and rolled it out on a flat rock and made tacos and partied. That's what Greeks did, they partied, all the time. But it had rules too, like Polyhymnia had a little Martha Stewart in her. The garlands were arranged just so, and there were lots of laurels, with people not sitting on 'em. You're going to be really surprised about the secret ancient wisdom, cause it is quite colorful, not like the Greek statues you see today. They painted with Egyptian colors, as broad and bold as a highway billboard or a hotel in Vegas.

The Madame knew this, but like any Madame, any place, she knows you don't just give the secrets away. First you dress them up till their so tantalizing and tasty red one could hardly resist, then you throw a cold blanket of white on it, and call it spirituality. It is a winning recipe, used for generations. You do know that the secret ancient god is actually named Bob don't you? Because that is the way it works.

Oh, yes, and then you need some candles, incense, and chanting.

Ohm means Bob in 23 languages.

Actually it was much a Tupperware party. The women all got a in room, loosened their coarsest of corset, and lightened up. I think they smoked some weed, it wasn't illegal then. Neither were a lot of other stuff, so good times were still available if the room was seance dark. The bugle is a nice touch, and the word psychic keeps Bob from knocking on the door, but in the next room peeking through the keyhole. The floor is sticky.

Now here is the clincher, you need to name it some Greek name, like Theosophical, which are Greek words for "Bob" and "party."

In the meantime, Bob said, hey. I can start a religion too. I'm going to call mine Science and paint it orange. And women are not allowed, except in rare instances where they are actually smarter than men, like Mrs. Einstein. But that is limited.

And I'm going to invent ipods, and cell phones that transmit pictures, and you won't be able to resist.

Actually, they were well on their way cause like they invented electricity, and what a hot thing that was. Never mind that the Egyptians already invented it once. Like how many time ya gotta do that? Don't forget that the Egyptians had one hell of a pyramid scheme, still used today. And their corporate logos? Outta sight!

Anyway, Bob, and the Bob that runs that Bob, who looks much like some corporate icon with a bad comb over, all got into a room with a long table and did some inventing of rules. Cause that is really what it is about, the inventing of rules. You only need a couple of episodes of the "Little Rascals" to get that. The clubhouse is a nice touch.

But you have to pay attention, cause if you fuck up, "you're fired."

It's a game.








Club Spanky


And Bob said, there is no god.

And all the other Bobs agreed.

And Bob said, it is all about sex, cause I've been peeking through the keyhole of spirituality, and I know what I know.

And all the other Bobs agreed.

And Bob said, hey this is not a bad deal. First, you get a dark room, and a comfortable couch, and you have them lay down, and tell you their story. And you listen, and you listen, and you listen, till you can't listen to much more whining, cause you have to wade through this. This just screams victim, victim, victim. ja ja.

And then you take all their victim beliefs, which you have been writing down, and throw them in their face, like the Dr. Phil Judge Show. And they love you for it, I don't know why. Perhaps it is the German accent.

And all the other Bobs agreed.

And Bob said, your ratings go up, up, up, and self worth jingles in your pocket like the celebrity with lots of freedom and too much money.

And all the other Bobs agreed.

And Bob said, that you know they vote with their pocketbook. Write it in hieroglyphics, keep it secret, and call it wisdom, with a capital W. We'll make a club. No girls allowed.

And all the other Bobs agreed.

And there were many Bobs, both Jung and old.

And one Bob said, don't forget you should give it a Greek name. Pick a tragedy, any tragedy, and color it emotional yellow.

And all the other Bobs agreed.

And then Bob said, let there be enlightenment.

And all the other Bobs agreed.







S T O P


God o god, this is a horrible story. Horrible indeed.

Not only that, it will fuck with your mind. And that is the most horrible type of fuck. The worst fuck, cause fuck has many meanings. It is a noun, verb, and adjective, and it incorporates sign language. You can speak fuck with single digit extended out a car window gangster style.

Fuck is both aggressive and passive. You can be fucked over, fucked on, and fucked up. And you can fuck anything. Fuck you, fuck them, fuck that.

But when you fuck with your mind, you're not even close. I mean the mind is way purple, and the fucking apparatus is red. That is two ends of the spectrum, and red bends the least when rainbow style.

I mean, in some ways Bob is right. It is all about sex.

And then in some ways, Spock is wrong, emotion is wonderful.

Bob Consciousness is very attractive. Bob Consciousness can fake a certain element of emotion, like they have a faint memory of what that incorporates. But it seems relatively distant, like a heritage one can smell or taste, but not feel. Bob thinks about feeling.

And then Bob complicates that by naming it. Perhaps some long name, punctuated with alphabet, and he confuses himself.

Oh, Bill of Orange. Don't peck at me so.








Cyberspace



This is a fairy tale.

And everyone knows that fairy tales exist in cyberspace. Which is now a word so valid, that even the spell checker understands it.

Cyberspace is a place of connection, like a train station, if it were strictly a train of thought.

Cyberspace is a dream with a delete button.

Cyberspace occupies space determined in language painted orange, and consisting of many acronyms.




And the Nyms.

The Nyms are little Greek fairies, with a nasty disposition. They tinker with a bell to get your attention, and then they play tricks that fuck with your mind. The worst kind of fuck. They are classified into many categories.

(A) There are the Homo Nyns,

(B) and the Hetero Nyms.

It is the Hetero Nyms you have to watch out for. That is when a word is spelled the same but has different meanings. There is just nothing you can do with the that, it is just total translation. I spell it correctly, and then Bob, the spell checker agrees, and then you're on your own. Bob is very Hetero.

But the Homo Nyms are fun to play with. They sound the same, but are spelled differently, and have different meanings. They sparkle in the sun like puns.

Puns are green, and dress like the pan, Puck.

(C) the Syno Nyms are worth paying attention to. They have a real metaphoric language, but watch out for the

(D) Pseudo Nyms, which are phony right to their toes.

(E) the Allo Nyms just don't want to be exposed, and the

(F) Ano Nyms are much the same. The

(G) Anto Nyms are primed for conflict, and the

(H) Caco Nyms are just a misnomer.

And it goes on. Nasty little buggers. Perhaps a virus.




Wilhelm Shakespeare

Oh, oh, oh, this is an awe-full story. I hope that you've stopped reading by now, and burned the book. Shift sucks in many ways.

And I'm just talking about the beginning, only the first ten or twenty years. But the orange was very busy forming new organizations that later became shrines. But that's later, much later. I told you, this story is just going to get worse. Get the matches right now, cause the mind is a terrible thing to baste.

I'm just hoping you're not mysteriously drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. You're not buzzing around, thinking that this is really, really hot, and that you're not going to fly into it and crash and burn. And then you do.

Bob Consciousness created many, many new organizations of thinking. Bob blew the first breath into science, and it got up and took over like a Frankenstein monster. It measured everything it could find, and wrote it down. Bob invented the Hypothesis, and he loved it more than he loved himself. He kept feeding it, and it grew and grew and grew.

Bob invented democracy, not that it hadn't been invented before, like electricity. Even the Hypothesis had been invented by the Greeks. It was a large three-headed dragon-tailed dog, named Cerberus, that guarded the gates of hell. It allowed all to enter, but none to leave.

(I'm telling you, when you get to Bliss, you will not want to stay very long. Just long enough to dump Bob and have a life.)

I mean Bob was really a dream artist at heart. He just dreamed stuff up, and it became.

He dreamed up psychoanalysis, and he should have been shot for that, but he wasn't. He should have been shot for dreaming up any word that has psycho in it, and there are hundreds; 177 in my American Heritage. But he wasn't. The closest we ever came to stopping Bob, was a Bob named Wilhelm, and we finally burned his books Hitler style of the third reich, and threw him in jail, where he died.

The first American scientist to be treated like a heretic. (I told you that science is a religion, and an insidious one too, cause we actually believe it. )

Wilhelm was outrageous and probably deserved every bit of that. First of all he was a disciple of Big Bob named Sigmund, and he agreed with Sigmund that it was all about sex. (A Bob named Jung agreed too, but he was lying like that Bob named Alfalfa does in Club Spanky.)

And Wilhelm went off on his own, cause he was young and cocky, but mostly because he was cocky enough to piss Sigmund off. Sigmund, like Spanky, held the keys to the clubhouse, and if you didn't do it his way, there would be hell to pay.

Wilhelm became a sex therapist, and he probably used those psycho words which were exclusively the property of Sigmund. And that was the beginning of copyright infringement. Even therapist itself is spelled wrong. It is two words, the-rapist, and is Greek for mind fuck.

Wilhelm had many adventures, which I won't go into now, except to tell you that at one point during the season of the Ilda, he was attacked by aliens. The season of the Ilda is around the 40's and 50's, and we're not there yet. I guess this story is linear.

Anyway, Wilhelm said, I'm going to invent the life force, ignoring the faction that it had already been invented. Bob's are like that. And he named it Orgone, after the orgasm, cause it is all about sex. And he put it in a box and took it over to show Einstein one day, when Einstein was in a bad mood, and Einstein said, "who gives a fuck?" And that hurt Wilhelm's feelings, cause you would think that the life force is a huge invention that should be instantly made into a shrine with many big buildings, but it wasn't. By then Einstein had become the Pope, and if you don't get the Pope's blessing, you are doomed. Einstein also had a set of keys to the clubhouse.

So you see, Wilhelm Bob just managed to piss off enough people, that finally they actually threw him in jail, cause I guess burning at the stake had gone out of fashion. Miraculously, some of his writings survived, and are still being read today, or maybe acted out in plays.



Surfin' Sumari


I know I promised you a Surfin' Sumari tape, the Big Kuhana of riding these tsunami waves of consciousness. I just haven't gotten to it yet, and most important is that I haven't set up the pay pal account, cause I know by now that if you haven't burned the book, you must want to send money, the symbol for self worth.

So put some dollar bills in an envelope and send it to me snail mail. I love those symbolic Egyptian pics on the back, with that third eye of perception lookin' at me. Is that cool, or what?

Of course that is also a representation of the Egyptian pyramid scheme, that I was talking about earlier. There is your ancient wisdom right there. You see, Bob is at the pentacle, and all the other Bob's are underneath. The pyramid is very heavy, and all those poor, poor Bob's on the bottom are feeling the wait. I bet their neck and shoulders really hurt by now, like Atlas supporting the weight of the heavens on his shoulders.

If your shoulders hurt right now, that is because you are shouldering responsibility that you don't need to be. Examine your beliefs about personal responsibility to others.

If your neck hurts right now, that is because you are thinking about shouldering responsibility that you don't need to be. Look at those beliefs again.

This is important Big Kuhana secret, and I don't want to just give it away.

Perhaps I can make a video.

Stay tuned.






The History of the World, Part One


I don't know who invented shame and blame. I know Sigmund Bob thought he dreamed it up, but it was invented way before that. I think the original Bob invented it in the garden of Eden while creating another Bob in his own image. At that point he got a really good look at his own image and said, heaven's I hope that isn't me. But of course it was a mirror image of god.

And Bob said, that looks just like a dogma, and he shuttered.

I don't think there is anything wrong with having your very own dogma, that walks with you when you say heal, and sits at your feet when you don't. Every Bob has their very own dogma. It is also a mirror image. Turn it around and it says, am god. It is man's best friend.

Shame and blame just came about cause Bob kept trying to train his dogma with a rolled up newspaper. Don't pee there, don't poop here, don't eat the slippers, don't, don't, don't. All that constant restriction really gets to a dogma, and pretty soon they lose their puppy spontaneity, and just hang around with long ears looking sad.

I don't know why Bob does that with his dogmas. One by one he beats the life out of them, and then they die. Then he gets a new one and starts all over.

There is nothing like having a brand new fresh puppy dogma to play with. They are just so loyal and lovable, but also a pain in the ass. They whine all night like Wade, cause they want you to be their mother, and you do have to continuously feed them. It's that personal responsibility thing.

That is when Bob first noticed that his shoulders and neck hurt a lot.

At any time Bob could have just pulled down the barriers and let his dogma have its way. But no, Bob felt personal responsibility to create his dogma's reality also. This is a real problem for Bob, he just can't seem to let go.

And there are dogma training facilities every where, and every whim. They have weekend seminars, when they lock your dogma in a room for 18 hours, and make it confess to every type known sin. And then they insult it until it cries, like the Dr. Phil Judge Show, or Jerry Springer.

But your dogma has emotionally expressed itself, and somehow actually feels better. I think that dogma had been restricting itself from feeling for a long, long time, and it felt good to cry. Or it might feel good to finally open up and share yourself in some more valid way. It is like having that dream about being naked in public, or using the toilet in public. Exposure.

So much fear about exposure. As though there were actually secrets.

Just think about that word for a moment.

Secret.

I'll wait...

:-)





Secret simply means, not expressed.

That is secret ancient wisdom wrapped up for you in a package with a big bow. Secret sells.

I asked Madame Blavatsky again, and she just half smiled, her bright, bright, bright, blue eyes twinkling. She said dryly, I can't give away my secrets.

If you run that through the common sense translator, it reads there are no secrets.

Secret is just the magic word you put in there to give it more value. You can tell a story, or you can tell a secret story, don't repeat this.

This also has a Greek name, the word formerly known as ethos, but now known as gossip. It actually means custom, disposition, trait. It was acceptable to gossip. It was interesting to gossip. It was an exchange of energy, just like money is. The more you exchanged, the richer you were, I mean in terms of self worth.

In fact, the Greeks even had a symbol for gossip, and her name was Thalia, one of the social graces. You could not throw a party without Thalia there to stir things up. Thalia knows how to entertain. Thalia is also a muse. The green one. The Madame is a muse too, at least for me right as this point. She is also known as the Goddess Nike, or winged victory, or Vic.

The Madame says she invented spirituality, but you know it was invented before.

Probably by Bob.






Yellow Fever

I don't know when it happened exactly, perhaps it was while Bob was digging the Panama Canal, and he was bitten by a yellow bug and got yellow fever, and then Edward the Peacemaker died, son of the dysfunctional family of Queen Victoria, and all hell broke loose. There was protest, revolt, and revolution was spinning. The world was wobbling in emotion and passion like an unexpected earthquake just hit.

There were government reforms, and it was all about tremendous change. Bob went on inventing, inventing, inventing, and by the twenties, before the big depression set in, Bob had invented everything there was to invent. He had invented big sailing ships, and rockets, and fast trains, and commercial aircraft, and cars, and paved highways, and telephones, and television, and talking movies, and psychology.

But the emotional climate had changed, and now that everything had been invented, it was time to implement it, and improve it. Bob loved his invention of transportation, and he began to paint it in artwork. It was the deco of sleek movement, and things were moving and changing rather fast.

The Mass Belief was no longer a trolly, that was much too slow, small, and limited. Soon there was a Mass Belief Ocean Liner, the finest ever built, Titanic in size, and absolute. But it was disaster sailing, and because disaster did strike, all the Bob rules changed.

I hadn't mentioned Mrs. Bob, but she was a prime factor in this, cause she is just so emotionally focused and saw herself as suffrage. And emotion reared its ugly head and became the god that it is. It was revolution on a grass roots level.

Mrs. Bob told Bob exactly what she thought of his invention of democracy, and that it was very biased, based on wether one had a penis or not, and that was just about to change.

Oh this story is ugly, really ugly.

I beg you don't go on, it is likely to just piss you off royal at this point.

There was a yellow rash of incidents and then it broke out into global war. The world was trembling and covered with sweat with a yellow fever of fire and brimstone.

Oh my, oh my. Why does that happen?



Sidebar: Geek History

Sometimes it can just get pushy and people go postal for what seems no reason, but there is always a reason. You can't hold back emotion. It is a god, and it must be expressed. Can you imagine telling Zeus to take a hike? No way, Jose.

See, in Greek, there are a whole bunch of little gods and goddess'. Some are real tiny, like little tinnie fairies, and some are big, and some have extra heads and tails, whatever. Snakes on the head. That was rather creative, cause if you are honest, there is not a woman alive, that does not know Medusa on a personal basis. And she is truly a bitch, and she looks just like that on those PMS days.

See, it is me, Rose Ann, Rose Anadanna Essence, telling you that it is all about emotion and relationship.

And the Greeks knew that the really, really, god was not named Bob, he was named Zeus. And Zeus was somewhat a Bob in that he could not keep it in his pants, and he was just fucking everything, cause he thought he was God, and Hera his wife looked just like Medusa when she let it get to her. Those snakes of the brain just won't leave you alone, it's like a hamster wheel up there, ya know, what I'm talking about. It is like a scab that you can't stop picking at. You think you can, but you can't, and pretty soon you are thinking about it, and thinking about it, and thinking about it, and looking at it, and it is nasty, nasty, but you start picking at yourself. Picking, picking, picking.

It is an emotional climate, and the head guy, whom you can hardly stomach, is yellow and running the show. And all the time you get these gut level feelings, that keep trying to tell you what to do. But lucky for you, you never never pay attention to that, because you are much too busy thinking about all those snakes on your head. Like what are you going to do with that? It is a definite bad hair day, and I don't want to end up looking like some crazy character on Saturday Night Live.

Emotion is a nasty dragon that kicks you in the stomach and then pulls your hair. And you can go to a dimension of pissed off, where you have never been before, and there are no maps for that territory.

So you've got to give Hera lots of credit for hanging in there like she did, she really was a Queen. And she resisted that temptation to chop it off, like Zeus chopped off his father's. Cause up until that time that was the standard procedure for the prince to king upgrade, and Hera actually changed all that to something more military. You have to give the bitch credit, she could hold her own.

The reason Zeus is so powerful, is because he represents the weather, or the climate.

I want you to notice that those two words are the same. Emotional climate, and the environmental climate. That is a definite Nym right there, spelled the same, means the same, probably, Sameo Nym.

And it is also one of the Tudes, like Atti Tude or Alti Tude. When you put the Nyms and the Tudes together like that, it can just wreak havoc.

(You've got to learn to spot these little demons, cause they are always fucking with ya in one way or another.)

You know that your emotions don't end at the end of your skin. Oh, noooo, they reach on out there and grab that mothea by the throat and shake. Emotion shakes and quakes like Hollywood. The Greeks had it nailed, they named their gods after emotions, cause emotions do take over and run the show. Some were goddesses. The Goddess of Love. The Goddess of Rage. The Goddess of Grab you by the balls and squeeze and scream I've had just about enough.

You probably never noticed where your emotions go after you are all done with them and sitting in the rubble, back to having that cup of coffee and cigarette, back to thinking about all those snakes frizzed up like an afro, and how you're going to get it straightened out before the parents come over to visit.

But emotions keep right on going up to the heavens, and end up knocking on Zeus' door, whining like Wade that Hera tried to kick my ass, and what are you going to do about it?

And if Zeus gets enough knocks on the door in one night, cause he has been with a lot of women so you see he doesn't get a lot of sleep, he gets in a really pissed off mood also and there is a storm with thunder and lightening.

And Zeus says, I've had just about enough of all of you. And the electric volt comes, zap, zap, zap.

Then all the Zeus' agree.

(I cannot believe that Hera left his balls in tact and he still does that all the time to this day.)




But back to the horrible story.

That was the general climate. I mean, if you want to make some heavy duty changes you have to put it on out there. And I guess it requires a gun if you believe you need a gun. But major changes were definitely being made.

Oh my, oh my. The heinous Cides had crawled out of the woodwork and were swarming ten deep. There was Homo Cide, and Sui Cide, and Geno Cide, and baby Infant Cide. There was Pesti Cide, and Germi Cide, and Larvi Cide.

War zone! War zone!

No atheists in the fox holes!

Millions of Bobs were killed on the battlefield, and some of the more artistic Bobs said fuck this, and moved to Paris to party, but wrote about their home town. And it was just crazy, just crazy. All the Titanics were going down, man the life boats, women and children first.

There was prohibition, and you already know that restriction doesn't work in times like this. Bob was back to trying to train his dogma with a newspaper, don't do this, don't do that. And you could tell his dogma didn't like it one bit, and wasn't going to put up with it anymore. And there were gangsters, gangsters everywhere, with their car windows rolled down, and gun barrels pointing out. It was the time to speak easy, but no one did.

And you know that as soon as Mrs. Bob got her half of the vote, she bobbed her hair, and put on loose short dresses with fringe to shimmy, and she just started flapping all over the place to the tune of anything goes. So much for the corset of restriction.

It is a good thing this is a just a story, cause if it were actually faction, it would be too emotionally stressful to even think about. It was the disaster train chugging along and picking up speed on that downhill run. And you already know that at some point the disaster train will lose its breaks and just speed on out of control. It is coming. Talk about your series of unfortunate events.

Choo, choo!

Maybe we should all just stop now and relax.




Earthquake

Wilhelm Bob knew the exact moment the earthquake of emotion hit, because the core of his heart broke open and exposed a fault that he would dwell on for the rest of his life. It was a Greek tragedy far beyond what Freud had conceived. It was trauma so painful, and so secret, that the mere smell of memory brought pangs of remorse that racked his stomach raw.

He had murdered his mother, whom he adored. Not out of anger, not out of evil doing, but out of simple curiosity about life and sex. It was the fuel that burned his flame so bright. The fuel of self blame.

He had shingles of anger over his elbows that was armor for his terrible secret. He had committed the worst sin possible, and the inner conflict was so strong and grinding, that going to war was a welcome diversion. He liked wearing an officer's uniform, and playing the war games of dodging bullets. Sometimes one must get up close and personal with death, and smell and taste it, to learn to appreciate life.

Wilhelm was on his way to discovering the life force, and this was just the first stop. He could smell the yellow breath of the dragon as it flamed all around him, but he could not entirely face it. He could not speak of it. Shame was his red badge of courage, and yet he felt strangely motivated to discover.

The dragon of energy is as electric as a pending thunderstorm, pregnant with potential. It pushes forward in the waves of childbirth, and the sound of power roars in its belly, like the very core of the volcano roars. The dragon has many heads, each going in a different attention, and each spouting fire from nostrils that are tortured by constant irritation, and a throat dry as death, and a black tongue. The dragon is many colors, all designated by passion. The dragon is the most powerful creature ever know.




The First Day of Juno

This is the first day of Juno. Juno is Hera in Roman.

It was a funny thing, that every time the Greek Gods went to Rome, it changed their perception. I don't know why that was. They couldn't have been further apart than say, Los Angeles is from Seattle.

Like Hera was totally hell on wheels in Greece, and she gave birth to Ares by Zeus. Ares was the God of War, and he was born of a relationship that was war like. But all the Greeks hated the heir to the throne, including both Hera and Zeus.

However, when Ares went to Rome, they fell on their knees and said, its a god, and they renamed him Mars, and made him a four star general. And Mars had a train of attendants, like Discord and her son Strife, and the triplets, Terror, Trembling, and Panic. But the point is that the Romans loved Mars, and the Greeks thought he was a whining Wade.

I think on one of those rare instances when Zeus was actually home, and putting up with the obnoxious Wade, and he was thinking, thinking hard about what he really wanted for an offspring, a chunk of his head fell off, like Monty Python, and it became Athena. She was born full grown and in full armor. She was purely a product of Zeus' imagination, but he breathed life into her and she became as real as Mark Twain was to Sam.

Athena was the Goddess of War, and she was strong, but had wisdom, and was known as the protector of civilized life. She was adored by the Greeks, and they built statues to her, and Athens was named after her.

There were two different perceptions of the God of War. One was more like a game where strategy and intuition is used, and that is a goddess. The other was pure brawn in a lumberjack shirt, and that was seen as godly and heroic.

When Hera went to Rome, they changed her name to Juno. And they saw that she represented marriage, and how difficult romantic relationships can be when there is so much expectation. Besides, in Rome she was the mother of a battle hero, and they named a month of the year after her.

Brides still prefer to get married in June.

When in Rome...

the century of change

counterpart action
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Musing

The concept of essence families is somewhat unfamiliar I suppose, but those ancient Greeks, the Geeks, recognized it, and incorporated it into their myth and literature in the form of muses. Not that there is a lot written about the muses, and within that, the definition is rather fleeting like meditation. The muses are presented abstractly as a guiding spirit or inspiration, and as vapor as the breath. And like the breath, quite noticeable when not present. They also represent a state of mind, when one is mind-full.

The muses are born of Mnemosyne, the Goddess of Memory. But not as much memory, as mnemonic, that which is intended to assist the memory. She is also known as the Goddess of Remembrance, remembrance not as memory, but as a state of being, or to resonate. Mnemosyne is a re-minder, and so are her nine daughters of social artistry and music. It was Mnemosyne that gave Apollo self realization.

Essence families are races of consciousness, species of consciousness, or pools of consciousness. Whatever. However you want to think about it. Imagine consciousness as being energy, and that it flows through the prism of this physical reality and pools into vibrations designated by color. And that each of those colors vibrates at a particular frequency and also holds other attributes unique to it, like personality trait. In fact, if you look it up in the dictionary, you will find that color actually means personality trait, as in "show your true colors." (We still use the language of the Greeks.)

So the muses are representations of archetypes of personality, or as I like to think about it, the original arch types of the rainbow of Iris. Iris is also a Greek goddess. The Goddess of the Rainbow and messenger of the gods to the mortals. And it is no coincidence that iris also relates to the vision, and regulates the amount of light entering the eye. (Mnemosyne wrote the dictionary. She re-minds that sounds and words have many meanings or ways to interpret.)

I know a lot got lost in translation over the years, cause the essence of something holds many properties that serve to characterize or identify it. All the external senses come into play; seeing, feeling, touching, smelling, and tasting. Also the internal senses of how it makes one feel, what memories come to mind, how does it relate? The Greeks tried to capture essence in imagery, poetry, and bemusement.

The original Greek statues were painted in various colors, not the statues that we see today. The colors were also part of the expression of essence. To the Greeks, essence is an incorporeal entity creatively expressed through the language of objective imagery, subjective poetry, and behavior.

The remarkably intuitive Greeks understood drama and the psychology of creativity, and expressed this as the beauty and eloquence of the many forms of the vibrations of music, or the muses. Music presented as something aesthetically pleasing or harmonious. Or perhaps drama with music, if one takes the attitude that life is really about the theatre of individual expression.

So if you were Greek, you would not even think about giving a party without inviting the social graces, Aglaia, Euphrosyne & Thalia. The goddesses of beauty, mirth, and festive good-cheer, and close companions of the nine muses. In fact, Thalia is also a muse, and is the one representing the muse in amusing. The Mask of Comedy Theatre. Mask meaning persona.

I thought that the muses defined as families of consciousness, or essence families, widened their influence within a culture, and gave a new meaning to an ancient concept, and that they were well deserving of a new more modern image. For they are the social artists, painting in reality.

So here they are....ta da.....the nine sisters.

The original arch-types.

(And I suppose I do plan to ramble on about this in the illusion of future.)

The Nine Muses

Red - Erato
Awakener of Desire
The Watchers
Milumet Family
Belief System of Sexuality

If humanity were a tree, she would be its roots that dig deep into the heart of Gaia and wrap themselves tightly around core issues, and in doing this anchors humanity so that it can grow from sapling to straight and tall and mighty.

The Milumet Muse is the belief system of sexuality, and she is as red as blood, or the flocked wall paper of a Vegas casino. She is the still dark waters that run so deep you could not know bottom unless she speaks in the voice of sunset over the Grand Canyon.

Erato has a social art to cherish, as she defines love in the most pleasurable manner of deep connection, and it spills out and flows across the mental landscape like a river of appreciation. She combines the physical being with its own deep rooted spirituality in such a way that we recognize her energy in the orgasm of no separation. If your most personal spiritual experience was during sex, then you know Erato well enough to also recognize her in the iron soaked soil of Arizona, or the wise red face of a Native American hero, or the backbone of strength in the physical body.

Erato is all about grounding, as her red energy flows downward from the sexual organs through the bottom of the feet, and she reminds humanity of its heritage with the environment as well as any Indian myth that storytells about the red race of mankind. She is also represented in the teeth that provide the body nourishment, like the roots of a tree feed the tree in such a way that it knows itself as spirit. Erato is the New Age movement in the early nineties that erased the word religion, and replaced it with spirituality.

Erato moves slowly, but with determination, like Suzanne who takes you down to her place by the river, and feeds you tea and oranges that come all the way from China. And just when you want to tell her, that you have no love to give her, she gets you on her wavelength, and lets the river answer that you've always been her lover.


Orange - Urania
World View
Dream Artists
The Formers
Gramada Family
Belief System of Science

For the name of each Mousa, they say, men have found a reason (basis or motive for an action) appropriate to her ...Ourania, because men who have been instructed by her she raises aloft to heaven (ouranos), for it is a fact that imagination and the power of thought lift men’s souls to heavenly heights. –Diodorus Siculus 4.7.1

I often think that Urania's feet don’t touch the floor, but when I blink and look with physical eyes, I see them anchored in cement. How can that be? How can Gramada organize, classify, and put so much under the scrutiny of the microscope of science? How can she so adore technology, and so implore new direction?

And yet Urania is the favorite of her grandfather Uranus, who secretly gave her the key to the sky and heavens, so that she may enter the realms of the museum that Clio curates. Clio who has been vouchsafed the power to know the hearts of the gods, and the ways by which things come to be.

Urania wanders in her dream body, grasping those ideas that fascinate her, and molding them into a shape and form like no other. Urania, the Einstein of original thought.

And it is Urania that can walk the delicate balance between a concrete mathematical formula, and the vapor imagination that spawned it. Not necessarily to the extent of the schizophrenic Nobel Prize winner, John Nash, but flying high with her invaluable wings of world view. And indeed a beautiful mind.

Urania makes contributions outside the spotlight of attention, in a manner that changes the course of history. She holds the globe in her hands, and she looks to the heavens pregnant with the multitude of stars of brilliance. Urania can pluck any star, and make it fit into her pocket so she can bring it back with her. If you check Urania’s chambers, you will see them glowing with the dust of other dimensions.

Orange Urania is the combined sexuality of red Erato, and the passion of yellow Vold. She is the brilliance of fire beneath a cold blanket of respectability. She is the initiator. She is the orange magic hour of dusk, halfway between daylight and night, that shadows all in black. Urania desires to reproduce in its many aspects.

Everything begins with Urania’s original ideas, formed intentionally for the Vold to immediately reform, modify, crusade for, and implement. Urania is the ornate art of the early 1900's, and her brain looks like filigree. She is as orange as the painting of Flaming June, and as orange as the invention of psychology, and as orange as the belief system of science.

Without Urania society would have one foot nailed to the floor.

She is anything but dull.


Yellow - Melpomene
Drama Queen
The Reformers
Vold Family
Belief System of Emotion

I highly recommend that everyone immediately download a frontal photo of Melpomene, print it out, and post it somewhere in plain view, as one of America’s Most Wanted. If her picture were on a playing card, she would be the Queen of Clubs, ready at any moment to club you over the head. But actually it’s more like a swift kick to the yellow gut area. Melpomene has a unique way of pushing your belly button.

This is in case your signal door bell rings, and you focus through the reality peek hole, and you see Melpomene staring back at you, you know NOT to open the door until you are ready. Melpomene is the Jehovah Witness of messengers, and you cannot be yellow-bellied when dealing with the Vold muse. You have been thusly warned.

Unfortunately, I opened the door before I was ready.

Melpomene is intense, and definitely there to rearrange your mental furniture, whether you like it or not. The Gramada are the formers, but the Volds are the re-formers, that directly follow and bite at the heels of humanity with a Chupacabra attitude until it changes.

Not that Melpomene isn’t entertaining, because she is, as she shuffles through the door in her high top Doc Martins, that double as the cothurnus, one hand grasping tightly to her camouflage of tragedy, and one hand brandishing a sword. Melpomene, from the chanting melodia, by which she charms the souls of her listeners, acts the classic tragedy with precision and motivation. She is hardly a victim. Her intent is to make you feel, as she is the yellow belief system of emotion.

Melpomene projects outward as strongly as a Yoga master can knock you over with chi. If your not buying into her tragic story, she might kick and scream, or cough and sputter, or wave her sword demanding compassion and understanding equal to her own.

Melpomene hears the call of the distant drummer, the off stage prompting, and she reflects by prompting society to greater heights, or more options of arrangement. Melpomene receives the cue, and gives us a clue, the mistress of modification. Her heart is on her sleeve, her head is in the sky, her vision is far sighted, and her tongue can be as tart as a lemon.

Melpomene is the heat of the noon day sun, and the release of a good cry. Her poetry is that which unites humanity in common bond. She is the songstress of the fountain of vitality that is the blazing golden dawn of energy. She is the art deco of the thirties, sleek and energetic, that pushed society into the industrial age with paintings of cars, trains, ships and planes. And she waves at you in a leather cap and goggles holding a glamorous cigarette.


Green - Thalia
Storytellers
The Tellers
Ilda Family
Belief System of Religion


The Queen of Comedy
According to the Geek Greeks, any story with a happy ending is a comedy.


Thaila is green, flourishing, thriving, and healing. She is the social artist that paints in amusement. Her poetry is pastoral poetry, and if you don’t know what pastoral poetry is, go into any regional bar and listen to the jokes. They tell you more about the region and its ideas that any geography book or atlas. It’s the heart of the community, like green is the heart of appreciation love.

Thalia is the wood nymph that flies from community to community, and spreads the word through entertainment. She is the jokes we email back and forth, the stand up comedy that stands up for us, the sitcoms that amuse us, all because they express our feelings that we can’t accept another way other than the soft cover of humor.

Every story has its bumps and grinds, its challenges, its disappointments. But if you can’t see the happy ending, then that’s where Thalia comes into the play. What makes Thaila the favorite, is that she tells you the happy ending in irony. She pokes fun at the worst disaster, the worst administration, the worst authority.

Thalia knits the cultures together with communication, she is the jolly roger of the high seas, she is the Chinese restaurant in every railroad town, with bad food, but open 24 hours. She is the musicals of the early fifties, and the sci fi of scary alien movies. She is the Peter Pan of imagination, and the Tinkerbell of belief.

Thaila is the breath of relaxation that one has when one laughs.

She is the master storyteller.

She is the belief system of religion (you know all that is myth, don't you?)

She is the muse in amusing.

She is the Ilda muse.

Laughter heals all.








Thalia’s Story

Thalia wants me to tell you this story cause she was there. It was in the seventies, during the time of the Sumari flower children, but some were not feeling like Sumari flowers and had gone off to fight a useless war we now call Vietnam.

During the last days of the war the god Chaos had taken over, and it was obvious there was no rhyme or reason. No resolution or solution. It was just a matter of pure survival.

And there existed in that time a group of people who’s intent was to save lives, rather than take them, the medics. But it was too much to handle. Bleeding bodies were strewn everywhere like a Greek tragedy. Some of the bodies of our young warriors were lying in stacked pine boxes with flags draped over them, waiting to be shipped home to heartbroken parents. It was heavy with doom.

It was the time of the triage, where those who seemed to be wounded beyond help, were left to die in favor of those who perhaps could be helped. Kronos had made linear time a life or death situation. Mortal people were making god like decisions of who lives and who doesn’t, quick and fierce like the fire and lightning god of the Old Testament.

But the medics needed to survive. You can’t help someone out of the quicksand if you jump in there with them. They were at the embassy, which was fenced and guarded, and they felt they could at last have a rest. So they had parties. Giant feasts, with drink, music and love making, in spite of young starving children waving their hands through the bars of the fence crying out for a morsel, only a few feet away.

And yet, in their collective memories, they recall the voldy intense time the best time they ever had. The best parties. The best taste of food and wine. The best sound of music. The best love making.

Thalia says you don’t begin to process pain until you laugh. Laughter opens the doorway to other options. It takes one outside that steel box of automatic responses. The more outrageous the joke, the better. Every joke is another option opening up. A different viewpoint becoming evident.

If one is in pain, and only focuses on the pain, pain reinforces itself and creates more pain reflected outwards as physical reality. And it recreates it in the moment, moment after moment, after moment. Every moment a brand new beginning, an entire new universe, but creating pain over and over and over, like the hamster in the wheel.

One tiny little smile, one slight upturn of the corners of the lips, lights the eyes and causes them to shine a little brighter. The muscles down the neck relax and the heart opens with welcome hands. The energy centers flare outwards and reach to the far horizons of other choices.

You can’t grit your teeth and laugh at the same time. The iron mask of camouflage breaks away, and there is freedom of restriction.

So make us laugh Thalia, you little wood nymph Tinkerbell, that flutters from flower to flower like a butterfly, depositing the pixie dust of healing humor on the petals of the mortal blooms.

HAIL HOLY!







Pink - Polyhymnia
Many Hymns
The Nurturers
Borledim Family
Belief System of Relationship


Everything, Borledim, is Sacred


The Borledim muse is
the rapture of childbirth
and the colors of the sunrise of a new day.

She is the rudimentary of relationships
and the peace of a dying dove that knows itself as transformation.

She is the weightless wings of flight
that chooses to touch upon both the moist earth
and the outstretched branches of the most far reaching horizons,
that caresses with the effectiveness of a feather.

Polyhymnia is the gentle kiss of flora and fauna
that decorates Gaia in the most glorious of manifestation,
and she sings to the purple mountain majesty
and amber waves of grain.

She sings to the calm indigo night and the spotlighted golden moon.
She sings to the orange autumn season, and the black hole of connection.
She sings to the blue/green that is the atmosphere between sky and land.

She is the pink blush of embarrassment
and the rose flush of viewpoint.

She is the nursing mother of nurture,
and mother nature personified.

She is the velvet rose flower that is
the gasp of the gods,
the joy of mortals,
and the glory of bloom for only the sake of beauty.

She is the fragrance of red Erato enhanced
with green garlands of appreciation love and healing.

Her eyes reflect the silence of meaning,
and the mist of a soundless voice.

She is most grace-full of the Muses,
and the very breath of inspiration.

She is the pink belief system of relationship,
and expressed her nurturing poetry through the baby boom.


Blue - Calliope
Beautiful Voice
The Speakers
Sumari Family
Belief System of Truth


Calliope, the First Born

Out of the blue, out of nowhere she appeared.
I remember it was this season last year.
I had stated my intent to learn all I could of the muses
And how they relate to the essence family that fuses.

Since she is my muse in rising
It shouldn’t be too surprising
That she was first born to me
In a time when I was dancing with glee.

Sumari knows the benefits of playfulness.


The Greeks are Sumafi in intent, and I can’t think of a better word than inspiration to define the gentle feather like touch of a muse. A zephyr of vibration and feeling, or just plain celestial music. You can’t hold inspiration, like you can’t hold your breath for long, it’s meant to flow in and out again. Each breath is a new beginning. The Sumafi Geeks knew.

Each muse represents a kaleidoscope of feeling or poetry in motion. And the Sumari expresses in unique creativity that adorns Gaia in a life that imitates art. Sumari is the creator of all things artistic, and she sings in paint, music, sculpture, dance, and written or artistic expression of all forms. It is her domain.

The Sumari are not the teachers, they are the doers, the examples, being highly creative, extremely unique, and sometimes bordering on eccentric. They are not introverted or shy, but do not align with societies, governments, or religions. They do not conform to the norm. They provide movement within a culture with the instigation of new ideas and initiate great change, but then like Seth says, they don’t hang around to mow the grass. They are best known as the “pot stirrers.”

They appeared within our culture as the “flower children,” the expressers of love and freedom. They are the muse for the individual expression, which is why Calliope sings to the hero in us, the one longing for freedom. It is a freedom of expression. It is the deep seeded desire of the search for THE truth, like THE truth actually existed. And yet, it is a basic knowing that all things are true for each individual and unique perspective. Sumaris understand unique. They are unique personified, and the belief system of truth. Sumari’s don’t care about accuracy the way Sumafi’s do, they care about the tone of the expression.

Sumaris are temporary. They do not establish cultures to be lasting, they are more encouraging of creativity in society. Within history there are evidences of cultures that were Sumari influenced. Sumer is a Sumari culture. Sumaris are the Speakers or the vibration of the blue throat chakra of communication. Subjectively, we all know Sumari. They are obvious. So we all know Calliope, no matter how she presents herself.

I recall when I first tried to connect with Calliope as I had asked her what the hell is a heroic epic? But she didn’t answer right away, instead she waited for me to relax and become playful. Calliope communicates best when one is playful, or in that realm of easy time.

When Calliope, the Speaker sings to you, she doesn’t need words, she expresses in the tone of the state of being, the way the Sumari language expresses. Or her words may be the nonsense verses of the “Dead Can Dance,” that sound like the most beautiful and barely remembered foreign language. Or you can make up your own words to her music if you desire, she doesn’t mind.

By co-incidence my daughter had a CD of calliope music. We put it on, grabbed some scarves, and danced around like fools, but within that action I suddenly discovered the energy of Calliope singing to me in the vibration and tone of Sumari blue. And in that moment she told me the meaning of the heroic epic, within her terms of feelings and remembrances.

Calliope’s playful voice is that of the merry-go-round, vocalizing in its unusual tone and timbre of steam whistle. The instrument calliope projects loudly and great distances, like the voice of the Speaker that commands attention.

Either she sings a delightful song that can’t help but gladden your heart, like “Waiting for the Robert E. Lee.” Where you can image yourself flowing down the river of life, captain of your own ship of direction. Or a heroic epic, like “America the Beautiful” or “God Bless America.” It was “God Bless America” that connected me to Calliope.

I was connecting with not the poetry of words, but with the poetry of sound, that causes us to stand in allegiance and put our hands on our hearts, and feel deeply the hero in each of us. Do you remember that feeling after 9-11, when playful Hollywood contributed to the war effort by giving a telethon? And how no one, except perhaps Willy and the Boys knew all the words, but the intensity of the feeling of heroism and community was inspiring. I remember that I couldn’t help but sing along.

It is that feeling…that childhood memory…that inspiration one had when playfully riding proudly upon the back of a painted Pegasus, holding tightly to the spiraled unicorn horn, while moving ever upwards and forwards, reaching out in earnest for the brass ring of accomplishment. It is the siren voice of Calliope that calls to the hero in each of us as we journey. There is no voice more beautiful.


Indigo - Euterpe
Giver of Pleasure
The Healers
Tumold Family
Belief System of Perception


Giver of Comfort

Of all the muses the Tumold muse was the hardest for me to get to know. I called for her several times, and she didn't show. Oh yeah, I can find her in my backyard as the deep indigo night, or on my television as ER or Bewitched. Then I realized that Euterpe had shown up several times, I had just failed to recognize her because she has a split personality. I should have also seen her in CSI, or Dead like Me, or episodes of Six Feet Under.

Generally Euterpe is calming and easy to be around as her very nature is to restore. She is healing, whether she touches you physically with outstretched hands, or touches your soul with the remembrance words of Mnemosyne. Her mere presence is the energy of the mystical healers that weave their way into every culture and hold the cherished positions of priest-magician. Euterpe is often royalty.

She is a natural interpreter that reads energy like a dime store novel. She reads people, creatures, landscape, song, events, and collects these into tidbits that increase her knowledge of her own essence being. Euterpe engages you in enchanting dialogue that radiates the hue of calming indigo, for she is the belief system of perception. She holds your heart in her arms, and perceives the tune of many heads, bearing within her sensitive ability the most adequate vibration to calm the pending fear, or sooth the worst demon. Her intent is not to heal, it is to remind others that they themselves hold the ability to return to the natural state of being at any time.

Her lyric poetry are the words of the opera, the libretto of human suffering, within a haunting chant that manages to ease the beast of burden. Her melody is an orchestration of harmony, in the timbre of the compassion of empathy. Her knowledge is knowing not to repair, but remind, and she often appears in society as mass disengagement when Gaia herself is ill.

When aligned, Euterpe will extend the greatest effort, determined as the intent of a doctor to save lives. When she slips into episodes of rescue and fix it, she has a tendency to overmedicate, even under the best circumstances. But even if the operation is totally successful, the patient will eventually die, and this is Tumold's shinning glory of belonging.

Euterpe knows death. She has perceived it up close, dismembered and rotting, but she also sees beyond that one brief moment of choice. Euterpe is the euthenics of life and the euthanasia of death. Euterpe is the master of the music of the Gorgones, and she plays the poetry of the flute that hypnotizes the Medusa snakes that haunt the head.

Euterpe is comfort personified.


Purple - Terpsichore
The Whirler
Living Art
The Imagers
Zuli Family
Belief System of Physical Creation


The Whirler

I can’t even look at the Zuli muse without feeling pangs of jealousy towards her perfection of body and movement. She is the personification of the Greek adoration of the human physical form. She is art imitating life.

The grace of a ballet dancer, or a stripper at the pole, or a football player. Physical beauty so immense it’s often called pornographic, but it’s admiration of the physical body attuned to every cell and molecule, meeting every physical challenge, and often excelling to the point of metals. Her art is the Olympics, and she is as purple as a Cirque Du Soleil costume.

She is the muse of choral song and dancing. Depicted with the lyre, and plucking with plectrum the strings of the physical image, so to make it sing in the poetry of dance.

She is the master of capabilities, and the mistress of salacious. She hones the human image that patient Borledim manifests. She is the striving of Apollo, and the attractiveness of Aphrodite. The kiss of youth and flawlessness, and the image of strength and potential.

She is US in a cowboy hat and boots, ready to take on any challenge. She is buff Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2, or the agile Neo in Matrix, adapt in the oriental arts of movement of chi.

She is whirling acrobatics, twirling square dances, or a high flying swan dive. She is awesome in the manifestation of her poetry of the flesh.

She is living art.


Black - Clio
Glory
History
The Seers
Sumafi Family
Belief System of Duplicity


Ode to Clio

Oh, sister of Calliope
I know you can see in me
An explosion of creativity
That sparks like the electric bolt that it is.

I beg you give pause
To my cause
Maybe not applause
But just a noticing in passing thought

For secretly,

I covet the Clio award
All that Sumafi records
It is the highest reward
For it is Clio that recognizes accomplishment.

I’d be so honored.




Dear Clio;

I know you don’t have the easiest job, and that it gets hot under that long black robe of the educators, the ministers, and the judges, the elite of society. And the belief system of duplicity that you know the best, is the plague of society, the continual paradox, the black or white riddle that cannot be solved. A demand for Justice, where there is no need for Justice. Everyone creates their own reality, how more just can it get?

And that you even attempt to give balance to that paradox of bad and good, right and wrong, amazes me, for the attempt itself is Titan, and as ugly as the fierce two headed dragon of fear. You are St. George the dragon slayer, armed only with tooth and nail, and I highly respect your tenacity of repetition. I respect your love of accuracy, and that you are the natural born teacher of acceptance.

You straighten the crooked images on the wall, you dust the nooks and crannies of the cortex, and you oversee the history of a culture. You are the black hole of connection that will transport us all at light speed into a brand new dimension of reality. And I noticed your energy first in 1995, as I began to objectively shift, and I called upon you for assistance in understanding.

You set the pace, although it’s not a race.

Miss Clio with your red penciled fingers, you do often correct my punctuation while I’m still speaking it. But sometimes I depend on you to dot my I’s and cross my T’s. Other times I’m lying with my fingers crossed, hoping you don’t catch me.

Often times you harp the Abso-lute. Other times you sing the sweetest tune of praise, with honey covered words of wisdom that drip in the sweetness of success. Behind every accomplished person is the Sumafi muse, or perhaps in front.

I’d like to think that we are side by side, arm in arm, traveling the same path, in the same direction. As compatible as fraternal twins can be. Dancin’ and singin’ all the way.

Much Love,

Sis

essence

essence
Originally uploaded by lfdeale.

Rainbow

The BWD in 2003
July 11


Rainbow


Can you see all the muses yet, like I can?

Have you put the pieces of the puzzle together?

Erato (Erotic)
Urania (World View)
Melpomene (Melodrama)
Thalia (Thriving)
Polyhymnia (Many Hymns)
Calliope (Beautiful Voice)
Euterpe (Comfort Giver)
Terpsichore (Whirler)
Clio (Glory)

If you haven’t look up to the sky of promise, where there exists the rainbow arch types with the pot of gold worth at the end.

Red
Orange
Yellow
Green
Pink
Blue
Indigo
Purple
Set against the black frame of Glory.


We just changed the names of the goddesses, like every culture does.

Red (Erotic)
Orange (World View)
Yellow (Melodrama)
Green (Thriving)
Pink (Many Hymns)
Blue (Beautiful Voice)
Indigo (Comfort Giver)
Purple (Whirler)
Black (Glory)

Or:

Erotic – The Belief System of Sexuality
World View – The Belief System of Science
Melodrama – The Belief System of Emotion
Thriving – The Belief System of Religion
Many Hymns – The Belief System of Relationships
Beautiful Voice – The Belief System of Truth
Comfort Giver – The Belief System of Perception
Whirler – The Belief System of Physical Creation
Glory – The Belief System of Duplicity

Green Spotlight

The BWD in 2003
July 10




Green Spotlight

You have to know how Thalia makes her entrance into the spotlight. First Grace and Beauty come out, and they sing a couple of tunes, to get you into the mood. Pretty soon you notice Grace and Beauty everywhere, and the sparkling rainbow colors of their dresses, set against their violet tresses. And you gasp at the violet connection. The violet smell of flowers, the violet sound of harmony.

And then there is a drum roll, and Thalia makes her entrance. The room darkens to a green spotlight that tells you about life in irony, using those words that get attention. The pastoral poetry of Slanguage. The most color-full language. The language that makes you laugh because it speaks to the green of the heart.

Thalia becomes popular because she is playing the part of the speaker. The Sumari changers of society that tie-die their ideas, and wear them as sign posts. You’ll probably see a lot of tie-die in the audience, clapping and spurring Thalia on.

The Tie-dyers love Grace and Beauty, but they love Thalia the Favor the most. Because Thalia is saying it’s okay, whoever, or whatever you think you are. I not only accept you, I think you’re rather amusing. You make my life delight.

Da light is green.

Savor

The BWD in 2003
July 10



Savor
The flavor
Of green

Green is
Inbetween
For a reason

Green is
The spring
Of the season

Between
Deep Purple
And
Sexual Red
Is the green of self love.
The green of self acceptance

The laughter of the gods
The release of the facades

Healing beyond belief
The goddess of relief.

Thalia

Feeling Blue

The BWD in 2003
July 10


Feeling Blue


I was feeling blue
I was feeling blue
I was feeling mighty sad.

I was feeling blue
I was feeling blue
Cause I thought I was done with the muses.

I was feeling blue
I was feeling blue
Cause I thought they might go away now.

I was feeling blue
I was feeling blue
But then I realized

I was feeling black
I was feeling black
Cause I was sittin’ on a black chair that supported me.

And

I was feeling red
I was feeling red
Seeing the velvet red rose before me

I was feeling pink
I was feeling pink
As I was seeing bloom for only blooms sake

I was feeling green
I was feeling green
As I was seeing the trees and lawn of flourishing

I was feeling blue
I was felling blue
As I looked at the blue garden ball

I was feeling light
I was feeling light
As I realized it was reflecting

I was feeling good
I was feeling good
As I realized the muses would never leave me,

They are the colors of my dimension.

Social Graces

The BWD in 2003
July 10


The Violet Connection


(Here comes the violet connection, although I still don’t know what it means. The muses and the Kharites all have violet eyes. Sometimes they have violet hair.)


Kharites - Social Graces
Grace, Beauty and Favor.

The goddesses of beauty, mirth, and festive good-cheer, and close companions of the nine muses. The mighty trio: Aglaia, Euphrosyne & Thalia.

“Hail holy Kharites, companions of the Moisai, enthroned in splendour.” –Pindar Paean 3

"And Eurynome, the daughter of Okeanos, beautiful in form, bare him [Zeus] three fair-cheeked Kharites (Graces), Aglaia, and Euphrosyne, and lovely Thaleia, from whose eyes as they glanced flowed love that unnerves the limbs: and beautiful is their glance beneath their brows." -Theogony 907

"Hai Kharites gumnai (the Graces are naked): because it is necessary for them to give delight easily and openly; or because those who lack the gifts of the Kharites are deprived of their own adornment." -Suidas 'Hai Kharites gumnai'

“Let us be merry and drink wine and sing of Bakkhos, the inventor of the choral dance, the lover of all songs, leading the same life as the Erotes, the darling of Kythere; thanks to him Methe (Drunkenness) was brought forth, the Kharis was born, Lupa (Pain) takes rest and Ania (Trouble) goes to sleep.” -Greek Lyric II The Anacreontea Frag 38

“Kharis (Grace or Beauty), who brings fulfilment all things for men’s delight, granting honour again, many a time makes things incredible seem true.” –Pindar Olympian 1 st2





Now, I can’t really figure out from all that I read, just who is who of the Kharites. What I get is, one is the lead singer, and the other two are backups. Like Diana Ross and what’s their names.

I pick Thalia for the lead singer, cause she’s the darling of harmony, and I’m into darlings. I think Euphrosyne is like breathtakingly beautiful but the mentality of Barbie, and Aglaia is takebreathingly beautiful, with revered wisdom. And in-between them is the darling of harmony, the maker of mirth, Thalia.

It’s like Grace and Beauty are cool, but everybody wants Favor. Thalia is favor, or the favorite. And I notice that Seth and Elias both refer to the Ilda family as the favorites. But I also think this refers to our favorite things to do. What pleases us most. Our social artistry.

This is how I read the Greek quotes above:

Once upon a time.

There was these three fair-haired chicks named Grace, who look like supermodels, or perhaps Charlies Angels. But…but…

Hai Kharites GUMNAI!

The Graces are NAKED!

HAIL, HOLY!!

And maybe just for that reason alone, everybody wants to be merry and drink wine and sing about dance. But nevertheless, Methe seems to be at the head of the table and the father of the three chicks all named Grace. And it is the three Graces that bring value fulfillment for men’s delight, and makes things that seem incredible seem true. It also puts pain at rest and trouble goes to sleep.

Doesn’t that sound like just about the best party you’ve ever been to?

But this is only a part time job for Thaila, she also plays the part of drunk girl on Saturday Night Live.

Thaila plays a lot of parts.

Prism

The BWD in 2003
July 10



Through the Prism


It’s like we travel around peeking in other people’s windows to discover our own selves. We pay to attend seminars so that others can sell our own self-esteem back to us. What’s up with that?

It’s all about vibrations. Not good vibrations or bad vibrations, just different vibrations. A variety, like the variety in music. What do you feel like today? Some Milumet drumming and chanting, or the song of the Sumari with it’s haunting sounds and unique arrangements?

Vibration is light. Light through a prism separates into the colors of the rainbow, each vibrating at a different frequency. And color is personality or trait. Look it up in the dictionary.

Each color has its own archetype personality, the slowest red to the highest vibrating purple in the spectrum of the rainbow. And each of those archetype colors has billions upon billions of variations in the mixing. You have sunflower yellow, mustard yellow, buttercup yellow, banana yellow, pale yellow, and on and on. This world is a big paint store with all the different hues displayed like ra