Altar to Freya
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| Freya |
In this troubled world, where there is so much fear and pain and destruction and injustice and imbalance I will build a small altar in my new garden to Freya. It will be dedicated to bees and all endangered creatures. Freya is my mentor and my muse. She is the goddess of love, beauty, sexuality (life) and war (in this case against the planet's oppressors). She is for me the rising Feminine Principle that humanity so desperately needs. The Masculine Principles has been around too long and has become toxic. I will add a photo of it here after I build it.
Shift Your Perspective
Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room.
One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs.
His bed was next to the room’s only window.
The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.
Every afternoon, when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.
The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside. The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.
As the man by the window described all this in exquisite details, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine this picturesque scene.
One warm afternoon, the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man could not hear the band – he could see it in his mind’s eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.
Days, weeks and months passed. One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.
As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone. Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window besides the bed. It faced a blank wall.
The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, ‘Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you.’
Epilogue: There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled. If you want to feel rich, just count all the things you have that money can’t buy. ‘Today is a gift, that is why it is called The Present .’
{found on Global 1 TV}
The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.
Every afternoon, when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.
The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside. The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.
As the man by the window described all this in exquisite details, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine this picturesque scene.
One warm afternoon, the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man could not hear the band – he could see it in his mind’s eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.
Days, weeks and months passed. One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.
As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone. Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window besides the bed. It faced a blank wall.
The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, ‘Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you.’
Epilogue: There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled. If you want to feel rich, just count all the things you have that money can’t buy. ‘Today is a gift, that is why it is called The Present .’
{found on Global 1 TV}
Thanks, Andy
Here is a story I found some time ago online. It's called The Egg, by Andy Weir. I've always loved it and wanted to share it here on my blog without taking any credit. Apologies that I did not ask him for permission to reprint it, but I get nothing from doing so and I defer to him and his storytelling skill. Please visit the page at Galactanet with this and more of his writings.
You were on your way home when you
died.
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| The Cosmic Egg by Isaac Abrams |
It was a car accident. Nothing
particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two
children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried
their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you
were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me.
“What… what happened?” You asked.
“Where am I?”
“You died,” I said,
matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was
skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it.
Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was
nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the
afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said.
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I
said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good
stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination.
To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a
woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher
than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be
fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have
time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be
secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any
consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens
now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be
reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus
were right,”
“All religions are right in their
own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode
through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said.
“It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You
asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my
experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within
you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t
remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by
the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you
can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you
are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or
cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it
back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.
“You’ve been in a human for the
last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your
immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start
remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been
reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to
lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese
peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered.
“You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time,
as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come
from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come
from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll
want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down.
“But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have
interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And
with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s
happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously?
You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,”
you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The
meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to
mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole
universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger
and greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said.
“In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all
the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations
of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said,
with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever
lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth,
too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he
killed.”
“I’m Jesus?”
“And you’re everyone who followed
him.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized
someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve
done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by
any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time.
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all
this?”
“Because someday, you will become
like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous.
“You mean I’m a god?”
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus.
You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time,
you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said,
“it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s
time for you to move on to your next life.”
And I sent you on your way.
15 Ways to Bring More Peace into Your Life
{adapted from Cortesia Sanctuary's website}
- Sit in meditation and give thanks to Mother Life
- Read inspiring literature each day, even if just a quote or paragraph
- Find a reason to praise someone instead of criticize them
- Spend time alone with Nature
- Avoid using chemicals on yourself or other things
- Grow an organic garden
- Eat a more plant-based diet
- Minimize watching television or exposure to the mass media
- Donate 1% of your earnings to organizations helping with the environment, animals, social issues, or health
- Stop whining and complaining; turn away from an argument; don't worry so much
- Hold someone special for a while
- Listen to beautiful music
- Write loving thoughts and observations in a journal
- Develop a reverential code of ethics that you follow
- Create a place of sanctuary in or around your home
Manuka Honey
Last week I burned my knuckle on the edge of the oven as I tested to see if a cake was ready to take out. I didn't cleanse or dress the wound and forgot about it. Then earlier this week I noticed redness around the wound and, as my grandparents always did, I doused it with hydrogen peroxide. It bubbled furiously as I repeated the application and finally put a bandage on it. The next day showed no healing, so I repeated the course, and again for the next several days.
The red ring began to subside, but the center still looked whitish green and continued to fizz under the peroxide.
Peroxide has never let me down before. But apparently it's the wrong thing to apply to burns (or other wounds) according to the latest theories. I bought a small tube of Neosporin and applied it with a bandage yesterday, and this morning nothing had changed. As I poured more peroxide onto the wound I got into panic mode thinking about cancer or MRSA. So I jumped online and read (again) never to apply peroxide to burns. I also followed links to manuka honey, which apparently heals better than antibiotics, which are failing because of their over-use.
I don't have any manuka honey, so I re-applied Neosporin until I can find a source for the honey. This time I didn't apply a bandage. The truth is, I may have to see a doctor if I can't find manuka honey, and maybe even if I can.
The red ring began to subside, but the center still looked whitish green and continued to fizz under the peroxide.
Peroxide has never let me down before. But apparently it's the wrong thing to apply to burns (or other wounds) according to the latest theories. I bought a small tube of Neosporin and applied it with a bandage yesterday, and this morning nothing had changed. As I poured more peroxide onto the wound I got into panic mode thinking about cancer or MRSA. So I jumped online and read (again) never to apply peroxide to burns. I also followed links to manuka honey, which apparently heals better than antibiotics, which are failing because of their over-use.
I don't have any manuka honey, so I re-applied Neosporin until I can find a source for the honey. This time I didn't apply a bandage. The truth is, I may have to see a doctor if I can't find manuka honey, and maybe even if I can.
Moving Into Old Age
How old would you be if you didn't know how old you were? ~Satchel Paige
When I was younger, I could remember anything, whether it had happened or not; but my faculties are decaying now and soon I shall be so I cannot remember any but the things that never happened. It is sad to go to pieces like this but we all have to do it. ~Mark Twain
The carbon burns hottest the moment before the ash. ~ amaria
Don’t let others define you. Be who you are.
My 62nd birthday is in a week. Sixty-two isn't exactly elderly, but it's no longer middle-aged, either. It's like being a 'tween, but at the other end of life. Here I write out some of my own thoughts about this phase of existence.
Ageism is right up there with sexism, racism, and homophobia. It's a quiet killer in that in Western societies, particularly America, it strips a person of dignity. We lose our mobility, our supple body and use of body parts, become forgetful, and our senses diminish and/or extinguish. Hair and other things grow where they never were and go away from where they once were. Spots, wrinkles, and sags replace clear, smooth, and tight.
In addition, the majority of us elders are either poor or living in borderline poverty. We are swept into the periphery, the corners, the dustbin of life. Yet decades of technology-driven prosperity have removed the remnants of the respect that more traditional cultures paid to those who earned wisdom over a long lifetime.
When I was younger, I could remember anything, whether it had happened or not; but my faculties are decaying now and soon I shall be so I cannot remember any but the things that never happened. It is sad to go to pieces like this but we all have to do it. ~Mark Twain
The carbon burns hottest the moment before the ash. ~ amaria
Don’t let others define you. Be who you are.
My 62nd birthday is in a week. Sixty-two isn't exactly elderly, but it's no longer middle-aged, either. It's like being a 'tween, but at the other end of life. Here I write out some of my own thoughts about this phase of existence.
Ageism is right up there with sexism, racism, and homophobia. It's a quiet killer in that in Western societies, particularly America, it strips a person of dignity. We lose our mobility, our supple body and use of body parts, become forgetful, and our senses diminish and/or extinguish. Hair and other things grow where they never were and go away from where they once were. Spots, wrinkles, and sags replace clear, smooth, and tight.
In addition, the majority of us elders are either poor or living in borderline poverty. We are swept into the periphery, the corners, the dustbin of life. Yet decades of technology-driven prosperity have removed the remnants of the respect that more traditional cultures paid to those who earned wisdom over a long lifetime.
Resilience Circles
Our unemployment is about to run out. Came across this article about a strategy for coping with unemployment.
Resilience Circles are springing up across the United States.
Here's an older article that focuses on Portland, Oregon
But now that I think of it, with unemployment at just over 9 percent at this writing, I just don't see Americans are desperate enough yet to get into this mode of social networking. And by the time things are at 25 percent unemployment, we've surpassed recession and moved into depression (the number for the Great Depression). I wonder if people will have anything left to barter. I just learned that America has been more than one depression in America. You can read about all of them here.
Resilience Circles are springing up across the United States.
Here's an older article that focuses on Portland, Oregon
But now that I think of it, with unemployment at just over 9 percent at this writing, I just don't see Americans are desperate enough yet to get into this mode of social networking. And by the time things are at 25 percent unemployment, we've surpassed recession and moved into depression (the number for the Great Depression). I wonder if people will have anything left to barter. I just learned that America has been more than one depression in America. You can read about all of them here.
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