Gaia Community: T's Blog

School of Hard Knocks

Sat, 16 Aug 2008 18:12:28 -0000

It's so easy to eye roll and head shake the thoughts that come of a quick glance about. Tiring of that reflex, I just start tuning it all out as best I can. But then- a shock of recognition, always. That first second of realizing that you're snug in bed and it's Tuesday morning and, yes, that actually is the garbage truck outside and your can is chock full of the stinky things of summer, far from any curb, and you might just make it if you run, now. Hiding just won't work for long.

Take war, holocausts, tornadoes and what-all. Child abuse, torture, the deaths by a thousand cuts- the innocence of t.v. with snacks piling up daily, slowly, to a cold mountain of diabetes and dementia...........

So many things to be fixed; reasons to feel sad and anxious.

But, instead of a Tragedy, suppose we see earthly life as a School? Suppose a war is a way that beings choose to grow? Do we really think that growth doesn't require pain? That the Universe is just hanging around, instead of evolving?

Way I see it, I have to choose. Tragedy or School- One takes Ground, and one takes Figure, or we try to ignore the whole thing.

I'm learning to choose School. But trusting the basic goodness of Life is a switch for me- a big switch. Switching allegiance to Pleasure from Pain. Trusting pleasure- real pleasure, deep pleasure, pleasure that comes unbidden as our birthright when we stop thinking we have to pay for it...............the pleasures we have to pay for are totally second rate, if not pain wrapped up with a bow.

So, how do I not only trust Pleasure, but distinguish it from a demon in a smilin' dog?

All I can say at this point- I'm wanting to learn- is to simply ask one's heart, not the idea of the heart but it's Palpable Presence. Right there, fuck fuck fuck! So frustrating- right here, always- but I'm still stuck in a very stubborn tragedy- the fact that I'm addicted to tragedy!

We don't have to pay for Pleasure- but our loyalty, so tested, like beaten gold will shine in, and as, the very Sun. It already does, and I refuse to see it. What a tragedy!

Well, back to school I suppose................

Beauty on the Wing

Fri, 15 Aug 2008 16:01:05 -0000

I've always wondered why birds are that beautiful, and why birds sing so dang purty.

Well, there's only one possible explanation- birds are simply pleased by such things. They have genuine artistic mojo. There's no reproductive value in the nuances, the little touches, the subtleties of the design and coloring of, say, a cedar waxwing. Science would merely say that this is 'nothing but' the mechanism employed by a female Waxwing picking the best genetically endowed partner. But, if I want to get laid and I impress you with my Picasso Woodblock Prints- instead of my TiVo of a survival-of-the-fittest Olympic relay- it says something big about higher aesthetics and refinement- favors that birds are not supposed to curry.

So, Dear Reader, I leave you today high in the trees with a bit of a quote, pondering the charming society and artistry of birds:

If ... we look at the speculum on a duck's wing, we might imagine that an artist had drawn his brush across some ten blank feathers, which overlap sideways - making white, bluey-green, and black lines - so that the stroke of the brush touched only the exposed part of each feather. The pattern is a single whole, superimposed on the individual feathers, so that the design on each, seen by itself, no longer appears symmetrical. We realize the astonishing nature of such a combined pattern only when we consider that it develops inside several or many feather sheaths completely separated from one another; and that in each individual feather it appears at an early stage while it is still tightly rolled up, the join pattern not being produced until these feathers are unfolded. What sort of unknown forces direct the construction work in the 'painting' of these feather germs? (Portmann 1967, p. 22).

Descent

Thu, 14 Aug 2008 23:30:03 -0000

Hiked up to a local waterfall yesterday with my new roommate Richard, and his friends from Florida, a certain John somebody and his son, Liam, who is 7. A powerfully fresh experience awaits those who climb to the middle shelf of these falls; hang out there for a while. All about you the gurgling of pools fresh replaced forever, effervescent sheets of shining water reflecting sky and revealing earth. The breeze is full of mist, a new sun revealed.

I could go on, but, you get the idea and I'm no freakin' Annie Dillard that's for sure.

Anyway, so my new roommate Richard happens to be a very ardent Buddhist. He starts hollering mantras up towards the top of the falls above us, a vigorous, robust display of spiritual fervor. But certain powers at that waterfall on that afternoon, roaming those distant mountains, disadvantageous to man; to a man; these powers pushed back- Richard slipped, fell, standing right there, and yes, he could have broken his arm. Physically o.k.- but badly spooked. Quit the entire vicinity, boom, legging it quick time to the lowlands without delay.

Why am I sharing this story? I'm not so sure. Maybe I'm feeling a bit like that right now. What goes up............ As I wrote those last words a pileated woodpecker just tremolod outside, and so I'll leave that as a final.........?

Took this pic on that middle shelf thus spoken.

Oh yeah- wanted to say that hanging out with this kid Liam was a whole lot of fun; I'd forgotten what natural experts kids are at imaginative plasticity and play. What's yours up to?

You're Soaking in It!

Tue, 12 Aug 2008 14:43:44 -0000

After last entry's sort of millieu, coming on the heels as it were of a confusing day on a confused- yet still somewhat adorable- planet, I'm musing on the confusing. Staying with it, feeling what confusion really is.

Yeah, it's thinking. Thinking. Like you didn't know. Thinking is confusing, and all because it scares itself, thinking does, into reaching the much-dreaded conclusion. All lonely up there, conclusion, looking for a dustless shelf. Reaching up.

Good luck. All shelves are dusty. Hang in there, swaying in the living breeze.

Conclusion: conclusions are not truly conclusive, but the radiance that hides there- and oh, if only I could.......................melt into that.

Melt in the Mouth, not in the hand................

Fear of Love

Wed, 06 Aug 2008 02:29:45 -0000

Why are we afraid of love? What's so scary about love? Do we avoid love because we want to control, and love cannot be controlled? Maybe. Yes, definitely. But what can be done about this fear of love? What measures employed? Which balms applied, to this problem of love?

God- it's so simple- so easy that I can't possibly be that stupid/wise/smart/idiotic as hell. And yes, yes, yes. I know. Shut the fuck up.

Yes, I'm neurotic- but you're hurting me when you tell me that I blame.... So, stop that. And also, what ever else you're doing, 'coz it bothers me.

You can probably tell I'm in a, well, scattered mood tonight, but I just had to blog, if only to assert my ontological status as Me. When I touch my face, shark skinned, not my heart, I smile but tight-lipped. That's why this entry , this latest installment of the Eyes in the Pine mini-drama/saga, isn't working. I'm afraid of love, and insisting, insisting, insisting that what I can do is just as good.

But it isn't . It sucks. Yet, it is. And first there is a mountain, then, not so much, and concluding yeah, pretty much. Which is a good thing. Meaning that Love knows itself through Fear, meaning that to be simple- whipping around, razoring focus down to a fine line that complexity barely crosses- is unlikely.

Yet cross it does.

So I'm stuck down at the Crossroads again! Love is tied on the tracks, and you can feel the metal pulse, quicken. The train is a comin', and straight for God's Hole in my Heart, if you have the balls to stay on the tracks..............to lie there with the headlight firing up the trees, knowing that it really won't hurt- quite the fucking contrary in fact.

So, dear and beloved reader of whom I know not, may your dare to say yes, yes yes and more Yes; even if no gets its free ride, and why not. 'Coz, Yes is big enough to allow No to enjoy his pleasures, small as they may be.

Nice Yes. So Nice to be Yes.

The Good Earth

Wed, 30 Jul 2008 22:19:32 -0000

Hey- don't get me wrong here. It's not like the Earth never does anything bad.........

Sometimes it gets out of line with the other planets. Sometimes it pulls sort-of weird things into it's orbit, like the Moon- which is, strangely, older than the Earth by a goodly measure. And looks it. Could of been a prettier celestial object, Earth. A Moon that is hiding- something. Never lets us look at it's dark side, Pink Floyd notwithstanding.

Sometimes it doesn't look both ways before crossing the Universe. Sometimes it lacks gravitas, and doesn't play in the press. Seems passive, only throwing a tsunami around every now and again. Sometimes it hires the wrong God to watch over it's forests, cliffs, brooks, otters and so on. Like Jehovah- Jesus, what a God that motherfucker was......... Sometimes it spins too fast. Other times it just sits down and says fuck it- pops a stone in your birkenstock, just like that.

But all in all, the Earth is pretty freakin' good. If the Dead were right, we are the eyes of the world.

I can see that.

Kaliflower

Tue, 29 Jul 2008 01:52:57 -0000

Come with me, dear reader, while we walk with care into a typical summer garden. Things growing under leaves that you have to watch out for- snaking along, (especially if it's an actual snake) measuring the sun' leaning once again to the south. Soil and rain just bustin' out melons. Bust me out some melons please. LIfe and death there too, a struggle over zukini. Zukinis often win, by the look of them- I won't eat them because I don't eat things that big and scary.

But there's more on my mind than cauliflower and the like- vegetable as photo shows above. Tastefully uncluttered with the usual crayonillia excess- no sir, I'm going to be strictly tasteful here on out. I'll photograph only the finest, organically grown produce that mankind has come to grips with.

"Harvest" is the first album I ever bought, age 13, and sunk into my outstretched soul like a golden stone. And Neil's never let me down. Must be strange, people you don't know but they do- they know you-

Everybody knows everyone in a garden.

Summer's Broken Back

Mon, 28 Jul 2008 02:40:48 -0000

Man, it's a hot sticky night here in Appalachia, and the katydids are falling in and out of group rythm, cranking up the darkness. I don't know much more than these basic facts. I like being later and later in Summer all the time, and all that goldeningnow and to come. Slowing down, Late Summer coasts along towards now, frictionless in the heat and slipping through the heart into all the summers you've ever had, stretching back and back............

And sideways- all of us having our own summer, at once. Many millions of summer days all days of summer................

Here's a pic taken yesterday- the flowers are fresh.

Middlebrow

Tue, 22 Jul 2008 14:07:21 -0000

Do your brows meet in the middle?

Middle meeting brows buckle under the brushy for two reasons- grandpa or grandma.

Grandpa kept a sharp eye out and about. Grandma loved without a doubt.

Another Middlebrow: Love and wisdom- a little girl befriending a serpent. Without that snake, we'd be Children of Love, pure light with no shadow. Is that what the universe has in Mind? A basin of attraction without a lot of action. No orgasm without friction. No fact without fiction.

So go ahead and lie- the truth will imply. But for this, you have to lie with total honesty and good heart, the Heart which lies in the Middle, way underbrow.

In the Bon tradition, (and many others) we all have a Central Channel running from our crown right on down, straight into the Ground. A gap that opens sharp and gentle. It can cut anything that needs cutting, a simple sword that never dulls-

But can we bare it?

Oceans of Time

Fri, 11 Jul 2008 13:16:46 -0000

It's really strange, being caught between eternity and the next minute. Oh..........tick. There it is again..................tick. Right when you think tick, well, then you'll get tock.

Fucking tock............a sarcastic tick, reminding you that that there is no end of endings in this Endlessness.

Is this a good thing? I will cry out such a question to the Godhead Itself. I will tear the answers from my own breast at times, leaving me bleeding and unable to move or even blog.

There's an exquisite pain inherent in all this- not the terrible agony of actually wanting to know, or control even worse..........

...............but a beautiful pain that says that you're alive and that you mean it. You'll climb up on a cross and nail yourself snug if it means the Love and Power that grows impatient for Herself might be hurried towards a fuller Birth.

........................and maybe you already have.

Wanna glimpse of.....................Whaaaaa?

Love and Consequences

Fri, 04 Jul 2008 15:06:23 -0000

I know a lot of spiritual practitioners who speak often of 'non-duality'. I'm no stranger to the concept, having studied and sort-of practiced 'its' realization for many years. But, over those years I've realized I was barking up the wrong tree- I still don't really have an actual, living relationship with non-duality, which of course is far from saying that I'm ultimately a dual creature. But duality and non-duality are both experiences that are both, in their true nature, non-dual. It's the ground on which we figure. Awareness itself is non-local- it cannot be found, anywhere. So, all there 'is' is duality. The 'isness' itself is non-dual.

But I've been getting into duality, 'coz it's sexy. Am I being seduced? I hope so, by Divine Love anyway. I discovered I was a far more devotional, feeling oriented individual underneath my conditioning, and that my quest for the 'non-dual', for me, only heightening my headiness. I grew subtly snooty through favoring higher chakras and the head. (Why call it 'non-dual'- a negative? What does the mind do with 'non'-anything. Deconstruct? Sounds like that's the purpose, but contemplating 'unity' seems a more intuitive and effective tag.....)

For more on non-duality, check here. Totally profound stuff, and the central path for many sincere practicioners.

But 'higher' , or more absolute, is not necessarily better, as I have discovered. Spiritual, or and kind of development, is a ladder; each rung important, and 'spiritual bypassing', wanting to skip rungs because the notion that it's better at the top (ah ego always wants it!) is rampant.

For me, learning to feel love, the tender kind that the head either idealizes (castrating it) or just ignores. And I have so much resistance- not to the idea, but to the actual surrendering to. I do feel that for most folks, learning to feel, and rest in, that loving joy that is right there, if you would feel it is the best medicine for what we are going through, the changes, the anxiety, the groundless uncertainty.

Right in the middle of our chests- such Gold and Higher Pleasure.

Also- here's a gem that most people simply won't believe, or trust- but times are strange and the power plants have so much to teach.................

http://health.usnews.com/articles/health/healthday/2008/07/02/hallucinogen-gives-lasting-spiritual-boost.html

The Friendly Universe: Facts We Ought to Know

Fri, 27 Jun 2008 13:08:07 -0000

When you're trapped on a planet that's spiraling down towards a flooded field full of ethanol corn like a Boeing 797 in a hailstorm, it's nice to know you have some nice things to look at in the seat pocket in front of you. The ground may still be a ways down there, miles even, but my, aren't those tiny dots starting to look less like ants and more like........................................giant ants?

Yikes! Maybe not..........but there are lots of scary things down there, namely people. And we've been getting bigger for a while......... The most dangerous animal in the jungle, dammit.

But heck, we mean well, and who's to judge anything but judgment itself?

Trapped as I feel in this plane, descending, I look around- most of the other passengers are snoozing, but mostly staring into the digital void. Some are freaking out, trying to get the pilot's attention-

Sorry lady, by there ain't no pilot. We are the gods and goddesses we pray for- but we still can't land this giant, groaning 797. A long shot at best.

Fuck.

But, it's o.k. Read this, and be comforted, if like me, you're a bit freaked. If you're not freaked, well, put down In Flight magazine and start screaming! Biggest amusement park in the solar system, this is, the Drama Queen of planetary spheres...........

Anyway, from what I can gather from many years skeptical inquiry, it's basically right on, clothed as it were as a classic:

Here in this world our bodies are dual; physical, which we can see and touch; etheric, which we cannot sense with our physical organs. These two bodies interpenetrate each other, but the etheric is the permanent, enduring one, the etheric mind being the abode of our memory, personality, and all those qualities which make up our character. Those qualities pertain to the etheric. The mind never grows old, only the brain -- the mind's instrument -- which becomes impaired as the physical body grows old. Nothing we have learned, no intellectual wealth acquired, is ever lost.

Here we lose, in time, the power of expression; but this is due to the physical instrument ceasing to function with its aforetime precision. When, after the death change, the worn-out garment is laid aside, we stand, clothed in an etheric body, in our new abode. Freed from the limitations of the physical, our faculties are clear and movements more rapid. In the change we lose nothing of value; we are still ourselves in form and feature, in thought and action. Those who have lost arms or legs will have them again, as it was only the physical which was lost, and the same with all the other bodily disabilities. [Findlay's footnote: The individual mind in the etheric world obtains in time such control over the etheric body that bodily deformations can be removed and cured by thought.] The physical is but the covering; it is continually wasting away and being renewed by the blood, which is another proof that there is a permanent structure to which physical matter is attached.

The child who leaves this earth as such grows to manhood or womanhood, and when this stage is reached remains a fully-grown developed man or woman. Old age pertains to the physical, but it is unknown in the etheric. Children in the etheric world are carefully cared for and educated; there they have their schools and colleges; in fact the desire for knowledge is the outstanding desire of all who seek for progress, be they children or adults. And what of the old who die? Do they who live long enough to die with all the disabilities of old age retain those throughout eternity? If we could only comprehend that the etheric body never grows old, but only the physical body, this question would not be asked. When the old and tottering body is cast aside the etheric duplicate stands erect, freed from its outward physical handicap.

The old die old only in the physical sense, but enter the next life young. Age there is not measured in years, as time there differs from ours ....

The man and woman of average intelligence perceives the new environment without much delay, some almost immediately, on the passing of their etheric bodies out of the physical covering, though with others it may take days or weeks, as we measure time.

Our etheric body is in every respect a duplicate of our physical body. This may seem strange at first, and I found it difficult to grasp until I understood the fact that the etheric is the real body on earth, and that from the moment of conception it has gathered round it physical matter, slowing vibration. Otherwise it could not have functioned in the physical world owing to its finer and more rapid vibrations.

The physical body is only a protective covering for the etheric during its passage through the earth life. In reality, our real hands here are etheric hands clothed with a glove of physical matter, and so with all the other parts of the body. Our real brain is the etheric brain, through which the mind functions, and it acts through this whether we are in this world or the next. The mind acts on the etheric brain, and the etheric brain on the material covering which we call the physical brain ....

We are really much greater than we think we are, very much so; our mind as expressed through the physical brain is very limited, and only when freed from the physical do we comprehend its greatness. Our earthly mind we call conscious mind, but it, and what we term the subconscious or subliminal mind, form a complete mind. Our conscious mind directs our activities in this world, but our greater mind functions in the next. We obtain only glimpses of this greater mind in the occasionally observed phenomena of telepathy, clairvoyance, clairaudience and prevision, and on these occasions the subliminal over-rides the conscious for a limited time and then withdraws.

Some day, as man develops, the subliminal may become more and more a dominating factor, but at this stage of our development its intrusion is sporadic and confined to the few. When we pass on, our earth memories pass with us, but slowly they fade and we are guided and governed by this greater mind which has been with us all our lives building up our bodies, performing its inward functions, and making us what we are, though we know it not.

Excerpt from Chapter 15, "Facts We Ought to Know"; On the Edge of the Etheric, by Arthur Findlay (66th British edition; 1970)

Faces in the Crowd

Wed, 25 Jun 2008 15:02:01 -0000

Here's a video by a guy named Matt- you've perhaps seen this one- that is pretty damned watchable. This guy goes around the world and dances his goofy dances on every angle of the Earth, cornering the market on global dancing, round and round.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zlfKdbWwruY

And I've been playing the stranger snap-shot game- whizzing past a car, take a good snapshot of the person inside, mentally and energetically. Then, as they pass, take that image and play with it, contemplate it, like a sip of chardonnay. I mean, in a car we're just sitting there, in a comfortable chair, rolling around on the surface of a planet while it rolls around the sun- and that one glimpse of a stranger has more information and just plain human existential here-ness..............than you can shake a shifter at.

Or, for an even more intimate glimpse, try it walking by someone on the street. Just pay attention, and feel how much information there is that we almost always ignore. It's wild, but I can do it fully rarely. Sometimes it feels somehow wrong, as in breaking a social contract that goes unstated, i.e. 'let's all ignore each other!'. But we don't, really- it's just the river of soul we force underground. Tapping that could be a geyser or a flood, and a wild ride on the stream of open secrets, all around us, all the time.

Yeah, this kind of thing can be tricky- the question I have to ask myself is how much do I really want to see? And how much do I really want to tune it out? 'Coz, once the cat's out of the bag so to speak, you aint' gettin it back in there.............

Devil in the Details

Tue, 24 Jun 2008 01:08:41 -0000

Well, more blogging on life and death and stuff I suppose.............

'Coz the rest is just rusty nails and asthmatic snails. What I'm getting at here is my deep attachment, yes, call it addiction if you will- go on, pathologize it- I do- to the Big Picture. For me, the devil is indeed the details. Defiance of details soars above entrails- that's the theory, but ground and gravity will conspire. Oh yeah.

Those little bastards.

But, I should have gratitude that death and loss are gaining ground, always- because they're our friends, tracking us down like rabid dogs- if, by us, we mean basic, every day 'means well' vanity, scattered clusterfuckthoughts in candy colored clowns they call the sand-men.

Yeah, those guys. The ones yelling 'Me Me Me' at, uh, me. And I want them to stop!

But, they won't- and sooner or later love will warm them into lovely golden aromatic butter, Divine willing, and served up on buckwheat hotcakes with plenty of maple syrup. Until then, my fears of minutia pale and wither into even smaller minutia, which freak me out even more........

............But then, I remember that home is never far away, if you can feel the gentlest feeling you can let yourself feel, wanting all good things for you, always.

Community- Musings

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 23:48:04 -0000

Last year, when I was coming out as bigendered transexual, I had a vision for a community, the "Mudskippers". This was to be a small group- blending spirituality, art, and nature. The idea was to 'follow the energy', which sounds vague and wooly headed, unless you're actually able to feel your own heart and intuition. I'm getting there.......on a good day. And, like any community, one weak link can bust the chain- people have got to be trained, and capable. No idealistic bullshit- and you'd better know your own brand of shadow, but good. This 'circle of mirrors' intensifies shadow like anything, and woe to the community that forms top-down, from some idealism. Much better bottom up- organically through good and very deep karmic connections, as a base, and thus established, a few strangers at a time might click.

So, small organic communities- 3 to 10 maybe, and links from there. Nothing Utopian, please. Anytime one's out to fix reality, or make it better, run for the hills.

And a map is nice- fuck this post-modern collection of so-called 'equals'. Bring back hierarchy- but natural hierarchy, post-post modern hierarchy, not 'oppressor' hierarchy (many post-moderns think this is the only kind of hierarchy, to their confusion). Natural hierarchy is as simple as the adult driving the car, not the kids. A teacher leads a class, not a student.

I like the maps- as far as they go- presented by Don Beck, called Spiral Dynamics.
Here's a link.

http://www.phong.com/chunks/chunkshow-single.php?chunk=from.2002-10-19-1222-0.txt

And here's a link to what I see as the best map ever made, by my fave philosopher, Ken Wilber.

http://www.formlessmountain.com/quads.htm

Okee Dokey. Enjoy the summer- oh God Almighty! What glories have thou gotten into!

Borderlands

Tue, 10 Jun 2008 22:19:43 -0000

Spent some time at the beach, Virginia Beach to be exact, not long ago. Had a time share condo nuzzled right up to the breakers, 10th floor, and although I grew up a block and a half from the ocean there, I'd never perched so, overlooking. At night the F-18s come back to base from the carriers off the coast, under the rim, out of sight, a rising torch exploding into thunder, one after the other, exactly two minutes apart. At dawn the pelicans surf the rising spray just off the crest of the wave, wingtip scraping, as it collapses down into foam. Ospreys dive. Dolphins nose about for the silver fishes that group back and forth in the gathering swell.

Went to see Dad. 93 years the man has walked this earth, or rolled- his new 2000$ chair stops on a dime- literally at times. Yeah, he's that tight.

But he's a good man, waiting for one big wave to come and take him out, take him home. Sitting, sitting, memories sweeping in and out, a sea to themselves. Not quite here, still not there, like most of us, but sharpened down, close to the eraser, feeling the nub of this life, rubbing rough.

An analogy is like....................uh.........................I don't know. The sea, the sky. On the beach all the elements glow, pristine- sun, ocean, sand, breeze and big space................

And here we are, all of us together.

Life Among the Dead

Mon, 09 Jun 2008 18:35:05 -0000

Time does fly, and times do die- entire worlds kick the bullet and bite the bucket. But, death is much over hyped- all there is- the changeless, changing. Re-arranging. Every Now, and that's a lot- but what else is there to do?

Well, change! O.K.- that word has been beaten to death. But man, is it needed, the good kind- the best kind. Less materialism, more of the Big Picture.

And here's my contribution: Start believing in spirits.

Yup. Start believing in spirits. You know, here in America you're written off as a New Age wing-nut the minute you say such a thing- even if you might hold such tenets, contemplating them, let alone acting on them- why contemplate the Dead?

Well, first reason: dead? maybe not so much. And they haunt our lives, ready and willing to help- not so much with logistics, as encouragement, solace, inspiration. The mature ones anyway.

In many cultures, these non-incarnate entities are taken for granted- the dear grandmother who made you animal pancakes and loved you, loved you, loved you is not just alive 'in the memories' of those that live on-' as Secularists tend to hold. She's actually still around, very possible helping you out where she can- and loving you still............

Lately I've been studying a bunch on this topic- and thinking very critically, or at least I hope so- watching a show on cable that typifies some of the Whaaaaaa? factor of curious minds on this subject..........my critical mind shorts out watching it- so help me out here People. You probably haven't seen the show.........

.............O.K. So, here's a British medium (Lisa Williams, 'My Life Among the Dead') who takes us out of her house, and her adorable family, to walk the streets giving readings to strangers, or in her office. She's utterly sweet, pleasingly plump, sort of like Princess Diana with some of the snappy, fun persona of Liza Minelli. She walks up to someone, or sits down with them, and proceeds to give them info on a 'passed over' loved one, speaking with spirits in real time- spouting specifics that click so firmly, the person is usually weeping within seconds,

How? How could anyone pull this off?

A couple ways;

- cold reading

-confederates

- research

-uncanny weirdness.

Let's take them one at a time.

Cold reading. This is where you lead the gullible with the general. For instance, making educated guesses based on dress, manner, etc, and following responses. "I feel you want love/happiness but haven't had as much as you'd like in life.............." etc. This explanation won't fly with Lisa- she's way too detailed without any prelude or feeling her way along.

Confederates. So all these folks bursting into tears are actors. Frauds. If this is true, then Meryl Streep is a lightweight. Robert DeNiro is a hack. No, gotta throw this one out.

Research. In this scenario, Lisa has a crew of detectives, delving into the depths of personal info of her victims, such as what Granny called you as a girl, or the private things like what one's dead husband or wife told you behind closed doors. How hard would this be? Quite. And, you'd have to squeeze these facts from a very small circle of intimates indeed, if you could find them anywhere- who would rarely choose to be part of such a deception.............

So, I'm left with two alternatives. Lisa is reading their minds, on the spot, or she's really, really, in touch with Dead People............anyway, if you ever get a chance to see her show, (2 seasons aired already), do so. She's radiant and amazing.

Yeah, I'm really interested in this topic these days, and will continue to throw up evidence as I see fit here on Eyes in the Pine.

I haven't been blogging much, and some of you might recall my rather radical forays into the Unknown last year- well, suffice to say I'm much more sort-of normal and grounded, if a bit less creative..........for now!

Change. Get used to it!

I'm Back

Wed, 09 Apr 2008 13:37:04 -0000

Yeah, been quite a drought here at Eyes in the Pine............here's an icebreaker, and 10 new pics on the photo page!

This moto was taken a mile from the Mexican Border in Californian desert.

Ten to One

Thu, 17 Jan 2008 22:57:53 -0000

Pennies counted, colas founted
All the timely minds of men
will only count to ten
And beginning over once again.

Yet Seven sisters
Straight above your crown!
so lovely in their darkened crystal found-

But this is true, and plain in solar view:
Count every single tiny grain
That lies on bedrock dusty plain
within God's reach
-feeling every time-drenched beach-
Yes, count them all, then, passing thrall,
Look up again-
And multiply the relaxing eye
(know them all up in that sky)

By one to ten.

Now: finding body deep in bed
Follow where the Soul hath fled-
And counting back from ten to one,
Take one more breath and counting's done.

Flying

Mon, 17 Dec 2007 22:42:52 -0000

Trusting the breeze
That takes in the trees
Covers the lake
On wings they do take

Leaving the wood:
Oh that but it could
For every high place
Looks up to Love's face

So sing all your songs
As far as it longs
To settle in air
On a seat high and fair

And longing no longer
To touch the green grasses:
Wind makes the trees
Each autumn that passes

Blown on the wind-
And are we all flying!
Learning to stand
Through birth, and through dying.

TS