Laura had second sight and told me things. She once owned a Soul Kitchen. She successfully ran her business and had a devoted family.
Purple Flower Hudley Watercolor
This is the time of the year when memories bubble up. When I left the punk scene at the end of the 1980s, I was angry and looked for love in all the wrong places. I found real love through my experience as a Home Health Aide.
I learned compassion. I came to realize that I was a responsible person that needed to be loved in return. I had given so much. I felt used up.
The punk scene took and took and often there was no return of friendships or the compassion that I wanted. On the east coast I like what I found there.
When I came back to the west coast, I began to build healthy boundaries. Laura taught me life can be a very beautiful reality, a healthy place of work and family. A balance of art, life, and inspiration. Real caring.
Describing her portrait sitting on the hearth is a difficult memory after so many years. A picture taken of her from the 1940s. Laura had long dark hair and wore a black beret. A smile as sweet as she was all her life.
Laura was my first patient as a working Home Health Aide in the city of Rochester New York. She suffered a stroke. I was there to help her recover. Her soul kitchen smelled foreign to me as I must have looked to Laura’s family. Me in my white nurse outfit, white stockings, and soft leather shoes.
This contrast to Laura and her family caused silence to fill the rooms of her home; at first not a word spoken. Eyes dashed as family members shuttered around. Slowly, family members left. We all learned to relax. A new warmth and trust developed deeply shared by all.
As the weeks went on I arrived at Laura’s home. A comfortable place to be.
Laura taught me kindness does matter and diversity blends as sugar-water. Swallowing it down was wonderfully rewarding. How grateful I am for her memory.
Driving south on Topanga Canyon Blvd. a parked car pulls quickly out in front of me. He is not a normal man driving a car, as I see and dreadfully feel: but who is driving this black rather small sedan?
July 5th 2014 real event.
Shopping on Saturday at 1 PM is not a thing I usually do. I have to do my chores. Instead of walking down to the stream to gather berries and water to put in a jar and basket and them put on my head, I go shopping at a supermarket. Driving away down the asphalt jungle I hear the large watermelon moving ‘round in the back of the car.
“Damn I did not secure it properly!”
I held a vision in my mind’s eye of cutting the watermelon open in half. Propping it round as a big bowl of cold watermelon soup.
“Ah, that sounds refreshing!!”
Putting all the groceries away, I then walked over to open the washing machine and put the cat’s beach towels into the drier. I like to make sure their beach towels are clean, fluffy and ready for them. They like to sleep outside on their beach towels in the cool of the morning and evening.
This summer he, the man I live with, bought me more books to read. The esoteric door of magical and syncretistic events awaken in me again. Those places that sleep slow and drowsy in my deepest Psyche. Yes, I saw him again too. That man in the rather small black sedan who pulled right in front of me.
I drove around him just to see who it might be. I wish I didn’t because as I looked at him, he looked back at me as we raced south on Topanga Canyon Blvd. He, dressed in black, gave me a sideways glance. A deep confrontational look, with his black hat, beard, and dark Noir focus, at me!!!
The esoteric doors are open, and the game is on. When one plays with the archaic mysteries the archetypal characters come to play. I have not seen him, Mephistopheles, in a long time. He is darkness incarnate! The only cure for this is the dew of a red rose.
For now I type in my cave filled with a stream of cool air and also read, do my housewife chores while trying to forget the large consuming cartoonish eyes reflecting my face back at me.
Memories are strange. Real experience, imagination and day dreaming in a few moments of time, take on a flavor in one’s mind. These all can be as a massive inward thinking collage blended together. What is it in us which differentiates the difference?
Husband and son went for a run around the block. Dusk was close at hand by an hour or so. The knock at the door took me off guard. I went to open the door thinking that son locked the door and wanted back in.
I opened the door and there stood mom and dad. My heart raced to see them standing there as if nothing had happened. I invited them in.
“We were at Trader Joes and thought we would stop by,” said mom.
“I see. Isn’t there one closer by your home?”
I looked at mom and she looked at dad.
“I wanted a certain type of beer and they ran out, so we went to the other. I think mom wanted to stop by and see the work you are doing on the pool!!”
“Ok, well as you see they took off all the plaster and next week they will pull out the skimmer and put in the new Blue tiles.”
“Oh that will look nice honey,” said mom
“Yes, the kids still swimming?” Dad said with a heavy voice.
“Yes they still enjoy it as well as myself!!”
I then asked if they wanted some coffee. Dad said a beer would be nice. Mom gave him an intense stare and said,
“Got a glass. I’ll have some too ‘cause I am thirsty.”
I cut up some Irish cheese and they had a few bites. Dad got antsy and said,
“Well gal, I think it is time to go, we have some groceries in the back of the car and they need to be put in the fridge!!”
I’ve learned not to fight this behavior of my parents; of coming and leaving in a short amount of time.
As in a whoosh of wind they were gone.
Son came back. Then about fifteen minutes later husband came back. I did not tell them about my parents visit. Mirage, a human mirage of brief moments that now seem real in my memories. Even though Mom and Dad passed away…a few long years now.
Yin & Yang pendant from Darrel and John modeled by Flash the cat.
Santa Cruz California has beaches for surfing and a Boardwalk to walk on the wild side. The University of Santa Cruz sits on a hill above this once hippie and murder capital of central California. A beach town where beach meets music at the Catalyst Club. Pubs, Donut-shops and pizza parlors mark their territory too.
!991, you might find us early mornings at Farrell’s Donuts and in the evening, we hang at the seedy pub, known to the locals, as the Poet and Patriot.
Powering down a Greece lightning, made up of Guinness and Anchor Steam, got the night off for a rogue conversation with the local Thunderbird or a game of cheating darts. Bob and Zachery made the time enjoyable and even broke up fights… the successful job of the best of the best toxicologists!!
Darrel and John were big men. The chairs they sat in at the counter every morning, showed the wear and tear below. The owner of Farrell’s Donuts told John that he was going to make them pay for it. Darrel had a beard and long hair while John, his younger brother, just had long hair. They were misfits, rebels and they liked us and often they would service up our coffee and say,
“Service with a smile;”
Taking waitress Linda’s job not too seriously. They were characters. Darrel and John had a big pickup truck with a camper. They collected stuff from the local dump, ya know the stuff nice people throw away and these two recycled it. They were reformed hippies but that didn’t make any difference. When we moved into our little one-bedroom home they supplied us with some good furniture. One of the big chairs we kept with us for eighteen years.
After we got our new home, all fixed up we invited Darrel and John over for dinner of BBQ steak and home-made chili. We lounged like Romans and Darrel’s belly was so round that when he sat down, he put the chili bowl right on top of his belly. He ate his chili down.
Once in the early morning in Farrell’s Donuts parking lot I saw Darrel sleeping in his truck. So slowly I sneaked up to him. I reached my hand slowly to tickle his beard when he gripped my hand. I screamed. He looked at me and yelled,
“Don’t ever sneak up on a man sleeping in his truck. I might have broken your hand clean off!”
Babies of 1992 and Alumni . Santa Cruz Sentinel, May 30 1992
Our first baby was born in Santa Cruz. Darrel and John surprised us and entered the picture in the local newspaper. Now that is dear friendship.
When Darrel passed away from a massive heart attack he was just in his forties. He was cremated and at his demise party they put his ashes next to a picture of him, as big and as mighty as the tree in their yard. Many of his friends showed up that day.
They were drinking and smoking all sorts of funny things. Darrel was one of those kinds of dudes that warms your heart just thinking of him.
It doesn’t seem like 31 years ago when Santa Cruz was our home, a town of characters and friends.
“Old stucco house with wood floors and Mexican Marilyn Monroe next door: Issue 48-57.”
In Whittier California and at the time we lived in and old stucco house between two apartment buildings. The one on the left I knew no one and the one on the right is where she lived. It was the late 1980s.
“She was a couple of pounds over an hourglass figure and about six kids followed her around town. Just like a mother duck and her ducklings; one right after the other.“
The story goes that each child had a different father and the truck engines in front of our house revving their engines at 2 AM, night after night, told us her story. She was sexy. She oozed it.
I was jealous of her because she had those kids of hers. At twenty something I was craving a kid. I was not as lucky as she. The wild days of my punk youth were not a good place for kids, but I still was craving a babe in my arms. I often spied on her from my living room widow as she spent time with her kids.
It seemed to me then that she was not very nice or smart. She yelled at her kids, but they were always dressed nicely and well fed. Once I heard her say to one of her kids,
“This time I will break your arm and not take you to the hospital.”
For a few years one of her youngest boys would bring me a little cake with a candle to blow out on my birthdays. I never knew how he knew. Hearing a soft knock at the door there he stood. Standing alone and holding up the cake just for me.
“We listened to her as I am sure she listened to us during those times of frustration and loneliness.“
We sat on the porch and ate the cake together. I imagined how proud I was of him. How he was my son. He was so smart, sweet, and intelligent. How did such a loud sexy mama as Mexican Marilyn Monroe have such an amazing son?
“I realize now she must have had a lot to do with her son coming over and with him bringing me the cake. What she did indirectly was one of the most comforting moments during my overwhelming wild years. She shared her son with me. I thank her now and wish her well!”
As we approach this year’s Aquarius celebration of Saturn and Jupiter both in 0 degrees Aquarius 2020 December 21st, I think back upon a time of my life when this song from the musical Hair was immensely popular. I have been watching the two planets hang together over the last couple months. In clear eyesight. Two thousand years from Pisces to Aquarius what will this bring to humanity…? What will tomorrow be like… we sure could use a lot more light.
Mr. Kennedy was a tall grey-haired man. He kind of looked like Ichabod Crane who wore a 1960s straight legged pant suit. He read my poem to the whole class. When the well-read and the popular girls looked around at me, I should have given them my tongue. I should have stuck it way out so they could see it as clear as the sun. I didn’t. I just sat in my seat as I am now…. years later. I was happy to be understood. I still am.
To Mr. Kennedy who taught with kindness.
Paper, pencils, crayons, and watercolors were always around the house. Grandma’s old player piano was in the boy’s room with a pool table. We lived a rustic life. The smell of food, the sound of children, parents and nature contrasted the rather harsh world of a classroom. Going to school was not for me. It was social torture where I turned off, only to turn on during time on the playground.
In second grade I remember Mrs. Bracka shaking me,
“No Holly, I told you do not do that. Put them in alphabetical order!!”
I would just write down any number when it came to math. The smart girl went around the room correcting everyone’s papers. When she got to me, she said,
“You got them all wrong. I will have to give you an F!”
She kept trying to get the teacher’s attention while she was correcting papers; after correcting my paper she went pee all over the chair next to me.
When I got to 6th grade it was about the same. I only watched the clock until kickball on the playground. I was put in the back of the class in the slow learner section and believe me the other kids let us know it. Until one day when Mr. Kennedy asked the whole class to write poems.
He said,
“Write about what you feel, write about what interests you or inspires you.”
Mr. Kennedy, who played the song Aquarius over the PA sound system at Serriania Elementary school, woke me up to the power of writing.
This is my first poem.
What will tomorrow be like?
Will there be day or night?
Will it be like today?
Or will there be other planets too,
For us to play.
Will there be rockets taking us to Mars, Venus, or Neptune?
Madonna con il Bambino della Cappella maggiore dell’Almo Collegio Capranica (la rappresentazione della Madonna col Bambino tra Sant’Agnese e un santo vescovo che presentano i cardinali Domenico e Angelo Capranica è attribuibile alla bottega di Antoniazzo Romano, XVI secolo)
Professor Happ was a gay Episcopal priest that taught religious study courses at a local university. He talked about Roman history with a vigor that was scary at times, especially when he described certain films, such as Satyricon directed by Federico Fellini, in detail. It was a lower division course and the youngsters were not paying much attention anyway. A little freaky but it sure was amusing. He also told a story once that helped me realize that when it came to music we understood the power with a depth that comes with an understanding of synchronicity via cause and effect.
Mr. Happ went to some big wig white-collar university on the east coast as a youngster. He told the class that he had a certain song that came into his life at strategic times. The first time he drove up to his dorm the song played on hs car radio. This continued throughout his life. He told us that this song was comforting to him, and made him feel that he would be ok. He then asked the class what this type of experience was,
“Now tell me what type of event is this? What type of experience would we call this?
The silence and murmur of students was deafening and then I raised my hand up…
“Yes Holly?”
“Synchronicity?”
Mr. Happ wrote the word on the board. The class looked at me and I looked down to the ground. The professor and I understood the significance of this and hopefully we were not the only ones.
Songs are very significant and each generation speaks and blends their magical music into a type of communication. In films, by bands or music in the supermarket; at certain times songs inspire or amplify the moment. I know this may sound crazy, but even Mr. Happ a Princeton, an Ivy League, boy experienced this phenomenon and he was one smart cookie.
In a PowerPoint presentation entitled Ostentatio Genitalium for a Master’s course on Human Sexuality and Marriage; I included a song by the Foo Fighters called Learn to Fly. The song, images and text all came together nicely in my presentation, even Sister Darlene, who never saw the presentation mocked me in a nasty sexy voice and said,
“I hear the lights were set for action in your presentation Holly!?”
For a Catholic Nun, that was considered a professor; she is about as vindictive and stupid as they come; which is one major reason I left the program!!
Anyway this song has a special significant in my life that now spans some twenty-years. Whenever I hear Learn To Fly the song seems to be placed at a time and place when the meaning of the song has a profound effect on me.
William Blake. Satán en su gloria
The history, continuity and meaning of music even one song is significant!
Now autumn’s breeze blows summer’s leaves through my life Twisted and broken dawn, no days with sunlight The dying spark, you left your mark on me The promise of your kiss, but with someone else For the bitterest pill is mine to swallow.
~ The Jam.
The Plague Hospital, Fransisco de Goya
Once I knew only darkness and stillness… my life was without past or future… but a little word from the fingers of another fell into my hand that clutched at emptiness, and my heart leaped to the rapture of living.
~ Helen Keller
This was my first episode to the underworld initiated by a drug’s side effect.
One followed a few years later. Both times I made it back but not without a will of dynamite… I have become wiser. More resilient to the elements of Pluto and his world. He still mocks me, but I understand now what I went through both times is an ancient one and I was never alone but had to do the work myself. It is all about illumination from the darkness to the light.
The Twilight Zone can be pleasant before sunset when the sky sometimes bursts forth with color which should only be part of our dreams. Shadowy faces from light and shadow play move on trees and in corners of our streets.
Glen told me once if you investigate this type of twilight without focus and expand your vision to include your peripheral vision, a world of nature spirits will open to you. One can do this on stormy cloudy days as today.
Yet the twilight zone story that I am going to share is a focus around a character who almost got caught in this place between light and dark, where escape seemed improbably negative. The experience lasted a year.
After a negative reaction to a drug the woman seemed agitated and unable to lie down. She got up and tried to take a shower in her hospital room. Then the thought of running and jumping out the window seemed the logical thing to do. They stopped and sedated her. She was only in the hospital for a normal hospital colonoscopy.
Something went terribly wrong, and she ended up staying in the hospital for two days. Before leaving, a morning nurse accidentally gave her some Prozac. The supervising doctor thought she was crazy. Regardless, without a psychological evaluation the inescapable twilight zone began.
On the couch at home lights moved through her body, she experienced an electrical storm shooting up and down her spine. Anxiety crept up around her as a succubus that never left her side; He stretched out a large woven black sheet above her. It rested above the trees and over her life. Always waiting for something to come… she felt the twilight zone ever-present.
“She said to the nurse on the phone,
“Nurse I am so anxious; I think I will lose my mind.”
“Take deep breaths. A powerful drug has been released into your body.”
The battle for her mind began; throwing away all prescription drugs from stupid doctors: that made her feel crazy and in the toilet they went. She walked, took homeopathic remedies, herbs and waited for the opaque Madonna to make her first attack. She said to herself, “Will I ever feel normal again?” Her will alone brought her back slowly.
The dark illuminating entity that mocked her unfeeling steps was slowly replaced by light. In her dark mind a knowing grasped her that was just the opposite of a gamma-ray explosion; for it was the core of a cold etching, calculating, scientific, and faithless mind.
Though she could not focus on watching TV for weeks, she slowly began to watch sitcoms. The humor, family problems and stupid antics of Tim Taylor from the series Home Improvement chased the boogie man away. Friendly books off dusty shelves and talking her walks in nature also helped her out of the dark twilight zone.
The feelings of a normal life began to move her. Music, live music, dancing, and beer gave her the gifts of beautiful punk rock rituals! Once again, she felt the loving and beating hearts of her children.
Karma, synchronicity and continuity speak to me, along with the freedom of the heart that is sometimes rascelulion in nature, and this all points to something beyond us. It can be personified in the many words of religion, science or art, yet it is only personifications which point to something beyond the personifications. Energy, movement, knowing and grace; help, letting go and responsibility are the showing ways or actions of Karma. These are the ways to know karma or dharma; to see or sniff them out is something bound by cause and effect.
Last night I had a difficult decision to make. My heart said one thing and my mind another. My back ached with stress because I knew I had to let go, or not act on something. This is not comfortable territory for me. I have the sin of codependency. I have read all the books and have learned that sometimes doing nothing is the best thing we can do for another. I did nothing. Today Karma, synchronicity and continuity spoke to me. As Mr. Myyoki, a religious studies professor, Buddhist priest and Jungian theorist, said to me in class, “don’t take on someone elses Karma.” I can take on my own.
Albertsons went out of business. I now shop at Ralphs. I went shopping without any bags and was given two simple brown bags filled with groceries. Today I went to another store, and today I remembered to take out my many-colored shopping bags for groceries, even the two simple brown paper bags. At the checkout line I consciously looked at the two bags and said,
“I will put these aside.”
When putting the groceries in the back of the car I again looked at the bags and thought,
“I will put these two brown paper bags aside.”
I was driving home on Roscoe Blvd. ,driving over the bridge that goes over the drainage ditch, and saw a cat. The cat had been ran over and was dead in the middle of the street. As I passed by I noticed that the cat looked just like one of my cats. I was miles away from home. I turned around and parked in the middle of a four lane street. A strong image came to mind of the two simple brown paper bags. I ran out and stopped the heavy traffic. I pulled the cat to safety by the tail. I opened the back of the car and pulled out the bags. I slowly put the cat in one bag and then covered the deceased animal by the other bag, While doing this a man pulled up in his car and parked.
He was a middle ages african american who was dressed casually. He spoke with kindness and with clear words. He had a cell phone and called the proper authorities to take care of the cat. He stopped traffic for me, and then we placed the cat across the street near the base of the bridge and told the authorities where the American black and white shorthair was. We said a prayer and held hands and walked back to our cars.
Two strange people and a dead cat In the middle of the city surrounded by heavy traffic, what is the probability of this?
We both made the right decisions today. Some person somewhere is going to have a nightmare.; about a cat they ran over tonight, a hit and run.
‘You gave me some faith today, I needed it. Thank you for your help!” I said.
“You gracefully took the cat and cared for him, thank you. You have given me some faith in humanity!” Said the man.
My decision to let go was the right one. My decision to take action and help a cat was a right decision too. These are examples of karma, synchronicity and continuity. When I got home I hugged my kitties until they pushed me away with their paws. We cannot control our life completely. Death will come when it will. But when we find kindness in strange places with srangers, this is karma, synchronicity and continuity working at it’s best. It does not end here either !!
When you see this sign a life changing thought or event has just occurred. You may not like it, or you may.
Whatever the case your Spirit Guides are notifying you that a change in your life path direction has just occurred and it is time for you to change too. Move with it, follow these thoughts.
This is a true story.
It happened to me last night. I am still glowing in the wonder of it. The image chose above inspired me. I put some thought into writing something about it. I had no idea that this would happen to me. I have done some meditations using Pluto as a focal point of meditation. This was my first impression of the above image. That it was a door to the underworld.
It was 4:00 in the morning and was extremely cold and dark. The sound of cats running along the old wood floor was the only sound that was noticeable; besides the little water fall in the fish aquarium. I got out of a warm bed. I walked through the kitchen. I reached for the tablets that relieved my back pain. The white French doors of many windows contrasted with the ink night.
The lights above dimly gave the room a soft pink tone. This was my bed away from the bedroom. The couch supported my sore body. Covering myself with a purple knitted blanket I curled around the big red pillows and looked into our hearth. It was black as ink. White cement blocks were the structure of our hearth and fireplace.
I wondered about an image I recently saw of arches of red brick that moved away in perspective into darkness; a brick tunnel that moved forward into ink black darkness. I reflected on the image and wondered about it and the cold dark fireplace.
“How similar the fireplace and image look! This may be a way into the world of Pluto or a crypt that leads towards death. Oh, it is a very silent dark night! The image symbolizes fear and death,” I said reflectively.
It was an enjoyable time for a fire, but I was cozy and warm. I was too tired to light one. A cat pinned me down and was purring curled up beside my curved legs. The waxing gibbous moon was now far away from the horizon.
“No fire now Kitty… “
And oft to sleep I went.
Then suddenly my body and eyes glowed and awoke to the light.
“Rumbling crackles and the roar of a lion wind came forth out of the hearth.”
I felt heat all over my body and tossed my blanket off. The room filled with light. I turned my head to see a fire in the fireplace. The hearth that was dark from the cold now was warm and inviting. There was a fire going strong in the fireplace. I don’t have a clue how this happened? I was in shock.
“But how can this be?”
Running into my oldest son’s bedroom I found that he was not home. His room was dark. My youngest son was fast asleep. Husband was woken up by my words,
“Did you light the fire?”
“No!” He said, even though I asked him many times. I told him what happened, but he fell back asleep.
“How could this be?”
My mind was filled with fear and wonder. My heart and mind filled with thoughts and feelings of fairy tales.
“Is this magic, spirits, or nature spirits, I wonder if this is a manifestation of this?”
A room filled with light that blazes forth is not a pleasant thing to wake up to. I reflected on the meaning of light coming forth from darkness, it is an amazing thing to witness.
I have read about such things happening. It is another thing to have it happen and to strangely witness it.
When my oldest son came home it was about 10 minutes after the event. I told him the story. We went over all the possibilities of why it happened.
“Sleep walking maybe or maybe you just forgot that you got the fire going?’
“No, I would have heard someone sleep walking and no, I did not light it!!”
We gave up and just accepted that it happened. Although not knowing for what crazy reason. I am glad that my son was witness to the fire. It was a strange fire that seemed to start suddenly and not to last as long as it should.
We use 3-hour logs in our fireplace. He went to bed, and I stayed on the couch curled up. I was not scared or worried about the fire.
I did think about Persephone. She is part of the underworld too. Her mythology is a big part of my life. For me she represents winter and spring, death, and rebirth, and light and dark.
Maybe this is what it means. I am curious to know what it means. This went through my mind over and over again. What is the probability of such a thing happening?
It is not the first time I have experienced such an event, although this mysterious event is the most startling and overwhelmingly physical one. It was not a movie, dream, or book I was reading. This really happened to me, and it is wild.
I fell into the mystery of what had happened.
The red warmth of the otherworldly fire in my hearth seemed charmed now. There was a fresh sweetness in the air as I fell asleep. I awoke to an exceedingly small fire and the need to check the clock. I ran into my bedroom to see the time, it was 5:55 am.
Morning time has come, now to get up and ready for the day. The music alarm clock was set to go off at 6 am. The fire was now completely out. The horizon was pink mixed with cypress trees. I took a shower, got dressed and prepared breakfast.
I have a good feeling in my belly now about the mysterious. That at the end of any dark tunnel of cold bricks that arch into darkness there may be a marvelous light waiting there, one that we may not see now.
A blazing light is waiting to find us, and that Fairy tales are still alive and living among us, just waiting to amaze us. We still need to share this magic!!
“Love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care, but for another gives its ease, and builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.”
~ William Blake
The colors became dark. The night air and clubs filled with dark colors and darker tattoos. She remembered when bright colors expressed the vibrant nights in contrast to the dark nights and loud music. To bring the bright colors back was a problem for her.
Bright lipstick and red pants. The joy of watercolors on paper brought the essence of the flowers to life. Why not on her round body, green, purple, and red were the colors she wanted to wear!
She would put the colorful colors of clothing on her body before going out, but at the last-minute took them all off, slipping into her dark cloths again. She put on her old ripped and torn clothing to blend into the crowd. She was hiding her light and cravings for color.
Her friend told her once,
“don’t be afraid to show yourself, and don’t care what anyone thinks…it is you that you have got to please!!”
Tonight, is the night she wore her red pants, black shoes with open toes and a black shirt with a bright red logo. She put the red lipstick on her pale lips.
Another friend told her once to wear lipstick.
“Wear lipstick no matter what. You can get away with skipping all the other makeup, but lipstick is a must. It brings color to your face, and it makes you look finished.”
The night was dark, but her red pants, lips and band-logo were anything but!!
Girly Girl, a thin and unassuming pussy willow, was born to a Black Persian kitty during uncertain times. She provided comfort to her owner and her mother’s next litter, often cuddling with her baby siblings when their mother was absent.
Not to mention the time that passed moving from my parent’s home to an apartment and then to our own home; Girly Girl was always with us.
In the apartment Girly Girl use to rest on my belly, every night; until it grew, until the new baby came.
In our new home I set up a little table for my spirituality; a candle and some flowers and a book of inspiration, a special place for me to relax, rest and reflect. Life was remarkably busy then and Girly Girl was independent outside the house as well as in the house. I did not always give her time like I once did. Now that life had become so busy with a new house and a baby.
Before she passed away, she came into the house unassumingly. We found her peaceful under my special table. It seemed like she was just taking a nap. We buried Girly Girl in the back yard.
Now Football the ‘love kitty'” sleeps over her grave some 11 years later. Wild leaves, cypress tree needles, grass and vines gracefully snow on her resting place.
Seeing Football resting there made me remember Girly Girl today: that grey puss that unassuming pussy willow!
“Marley was dead, to begin with … This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate.”
― Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
The Gift…Mr. Po Po crawls into used gift paper.
Mr. Marley comes to visit this time of the year; late at night and the early hours upon waking. Bringing whispering resentments caused by others, betrayals and assholes that I must endure. It is so unequivocally that he comes, but that is not the whole picture. Then also comes the mocking of those rude and inexcusable things I have done to others. This full-wolf-moon of December has the ability to illuminate within us; as a flashlight within our souls.
At times like these the only thing to do is to let go and focus upon the little things of value. Quality moments with people, places and things that help illuminate the joy found at this time of the year as well.
And what is relevant now this time of year is my Christmas bracelet which was given to me by a friend over six years ago. It is delightful and fun to wear. It was during a show at Mr. T’s Bowl of Highland Park during a dance contest. The band The Thingz were playing “Do The Crab.” There were many on the dance floor. It was around an hour later that I noticed that I had the bracelet upon my wrist and thought,
“Where did this come from?”
Jewelry box and Christmas bracelet
I did not win the contest but husband and she, a friend, did. Later I found out that she slipped the Christmas bracelet upon my wrist unawares to the delight and the joy it has brought me since. I keep the bracelet in a new jewelry box. This box was created by another special friend. The box houses the bracelet that smells of my favorite sweet bouquet perfume.
The simple elegant task of opening the box and taking out the bracelet is a quality of simplest but profound joys.
Not to forget to mention The Thingz T-shirtfrom that evening that I most likely will wear on the up-coming Bill Bartell Tribute at the Ecoplex! The t-shirt is another ample joy that hangs in my closet! It was given to husband but I took it. It reminds me of a time, a few years back, before the now bright-glowing nostalgia of THE BIG PUNK ROCK, yet I have slowly come to realize in my reflective moments of “doom” that,
Sometimes you got to look past the glory blaring lights of nostalgia and seek the friendship and “good buds” within!
Son’s dilated eye after eye doc visit.
I admit to not liking The Echoplex. much. The last time we were there husband had some problems. It was a strange time and he had a theme quote that was as firm as a BEOWULF statement,
“THE NIGHT IS YOUNG !!”
Having one son at babysitting age we would ascend into the night of music, drinking and dance of no end in sight. On one such night husband got into a fight with one of the nasty bouncers at the Echoplex and we left early. The parking always sucks there too.
Times have chilled since years ago and now I am real sorry that I told Mike Patton, from the band Middle Class, recently that I do not like The Echoplex! If I see him tomorrow night I will tell him I am sorry and was being foolish; of course repeating this importance in my head,
“seek the friendship and “good buds” within!”
With this BIG PUNK ROCK nostalgia comes yearning of years ago. At the time of the early punk scene I was reading Madame Blavatsky. She too has come forth now as something relevant in this entire Christmas story. She is affirming her friendship in my life again and the synchronicities are flowing through as streams of electricity and knowing. I am currently reading Madame Blavatsky– The Mother of Modern Spirituality a biography by Gary Lachman which I received as a gift last Xmas.
It is called retrospection, recapitulation and renewal folks. The experiences can be small as a miniature whirlwind similar as seen when leaves fly around through the air, or as big and all-consuming as a wind storm including decades of thoughts and memories… all thanks to Mr. Marley !!
“Do not be afraid of your difficulties. Do not wish you could be in other circumstances than you are. For when you have made the best of an adversity, it becomes the stepping stone to a splendid opportunity.”
If I end up with cancer and I only have a few months to live I would do something revolutionary, but now I have the superpower of invisibility. It all happened one night on a walk around the neighborhood…
Happy Holiday Praying Mantis by Hudley
Mystical places do exist. Haven’t you caught them from the corner of your eye? A flash of light, a face or a building appears then gone when you look straight at it. I am not talking about black floaters or some science jargon here. The strangest thing I caught by this type of seeing was just down the block from my house. It was dusk and I saw two enormous white marble cat-like figures, taller than the trees and the houses. They were parallel to each other. It was a foggy night and the feeling of awesome came to mind. As a camera flash illuminates its object of focus then is out, so too was this image just as bright and followed by darkness.
Months later I strolled to this place again on one of my walks. This time it was late and the clear night sky shimmering multitudes of lights and unseen dark matter. I stood at the spot again where I viewed the cat-like figures. A sudden will-o’-the-wisp came down from the night sky and I heard a chant.
“Finally daughter-child you come to the altar. Take the gift of invisibility. Mock the greedy bastard rich who abuse their power on your sweet little planet.”
I knew my mission and all I had to do was say the chant.
“Mock the greedy bastard rich who abuse their power on our sweet little planet.”
I ran home and wrote the chant down. At first I thought myself crazy. I tried the chant a few times. Now invisible, I went to son’s classes and watched him working. I enjoyed this immensely. I often kissed him on his head and he felt me as a soft breeze. Somehow I think he knew someone was there.
I tripped his history teacher and watched him fall down three stairs and bloody his elbows. Even though I feel he is a good teacher, he makes a lot of mistakes when grading his student’s papers. Then and there I took a vow to only use the chant with integrity. Damn it…it really works!!
I studied hard and researched until I found all the information I needed. So my mockery-mission was planned. I took two weeks off during the Holiday season to go visit my brother. All was a foot! Airplanes, buses and even a few taxis were all free to an invisible passenger. Anything I wore upon my body was invisible like me. I did not have to go around naked like the invisible man Griffin.
Firstly my mission was invisibly-vising all the Koch brothers corporations. I destroyed all of their documents, computers and sabotaged their meetings while making a mockery of them.
Papers in the air, over turned coffee cups and farts from nowhere…
I could hear the angels laughing. Then I visited Fox News, Rush Limbaugh and a few strategically stupid Tea Party members. (I admit I digressed putting laxatives in Rush’s Whiskey) I hunted them down and haunted them as the three admirable ghosts from Charles Dickens A Christmas Carol.
As my final first mission and task; I took as much money from local banks as I could.
It really does not take a genius to plan a bank robbery when you are invisible!
Something Robin Hood and His Merrie Men might have done…sharing the wealth with the middle class and the poor.
It is easy to find needy people when you are invisible.
But this was just the beginning of my superpower… and I can tell you all this, there are more of us invisible people out there then you may realize… for we are the ghosts and angels not just of your dreams but those lights that twinkle at the corner of your eyes.
Turkey à la king, cranberry sauce and rice is fucking better with butter.
The morning was reeking a son’s manipulative sweety-pieness. He had finished his health poster while we were gone the previous evening. Now he was in the kitchen helping mom with cooking. Chopping, seasoning and measuring out the rice and water. Throwing turkey bones in the trash as he said,
“Ah poor turkey!”
“We have all eaten and been eaten… in the scheme of things. We are all recycled star dust… pulled in and digested by a big black-hole.”
“Not necessarily…science sees it differently…black-holes are different from what you may think mom!”
We were having a good time. Left over turkey is fun to work with. Over the years Thanksgiving has mostly been over at husband’s or my family for dinner. It is nice to do as we please now!
Dark meat from legs and wings and a little white meat; leftover green onions, celery and curry spices were all included in our recipe. A little maple syrup for the next level in flavor. Son burnt his tongue on a tiny red dried pepper while seasoning the TURKEY À LA KING.
Along with also making my hot coffee this morning son gets to go over to his friends today. We really need a break from each other. The morning was savory. Son succeeds in making mom happy!
“…it further asks the student to understand the state “where sleep has not yet come, but wakefulness has vanished.” The Mind of man cannot understand the state of being neither asleep nor wakeful. This is not a condition of being half-asleep and half-awake. It is a state where there is neither sleep nor wakefulness.
Obviously this state speaks of an interval; an interval between two breaths. an interval between two thoughts or between two experiences….the only perception of the Interval comes on to the Third Eye, and it is only in the Interval that the Third way can be found. In the Voice of the Silence, H.P. Blavatsky speaks of “…the right perception of existing things, the knowledge of the non-existence.” “
~ The Science of Meditation by Rohit Mehta
The one on the left-handed the one on the right a cigarette. It seemed strange that they were smoking and had no shoes or socks on their feet.
It was in Whittier California CA that the two Holy men appeared. They were out-of-place. Traffic raced by as the environment yelled loudly at them. They seemed untouched and unmoved. They were witnesses to something only they knew. We observed them from our car across the street near the supermarket. Resting from their long ongoing journey on foot, they sat on a small grass section near a building.
After shopping something compelled me to buy them some oranges. Walking across the street towards them it felt like repelling currents. As when one puts two positive or negative poles of a battery together; they repel each other. After putting the oranges down in front of them, they took me in as part of a vast view. I was not an individual person to them but part of an inclusive image they were viewing.
Their feet were dirty, and their fingers stained from tobacco. Their cigarette was hand rolled. The air around them seemed fresh and fragrant mixed with cigarette smoke.
30 years ago, I saw these men. Why their memory came to me today I haven’t a clue? They are an example of the third way; those perceiving and experiencing by means of an interval that happens when viewing with the Third Eye?
“I’d been getting bored with the stereotyped changes (harmonies) that were being used all the time. … I found that by using the higher intervals of a chord as a melody line and backing them with appropriately related changes I could play the thing I’d been hearing. I came alive.” — Charlie Parker on his personal stylistic breakthrough, quoted in: Nat Hentoff and Nat Shapiro, ed., Hear Me Talkin’ to Ya (1955)
Linda was one of my girlfriends from the neighborhood. She lived over the hill and around the block. She was Catholic and went to the local Catholic school. The rest of us were moved around like cattle by the local public school system. It pissed me off because most of the time she could not play on Saturdays until she did her chores. On Sundays she couldn’t play because she had to go to Sunday school and church. She and her two younger sisters, Karen and Paula, seemed to be around but I did not give them much time of day. It was Linda that fascinated me. She was like having an older sister that loved to be with me.
he other night while looking out of our bedroom window it seemed so dark in contrast to the full moon of autumn October. I was resting on my bed as the cool air embraced me and then all of a sudden many of Linda’s stories came back to me. I then proceeded to tell her stories to my husband and two sons. I would not stop talking until I affirmed Linda’s story/ memories with my mouth, You see before Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings or The Adventures of Narnia; even before I started to read fairy tales, Linda’s stories pushed me along into the world of reading, storytelling and writing.
The pickle-peanut bird
1966: Eight years old and my first sleepover was at Gigi’s house.
“Holly I forgot to tell you. I invited Linda first because you told me you could not stay the night.”
“I see.”
Later in the evening we had to decide who was going to sleep where. Gigi only had two beds in her bedroom. We took three match sticks. One stick was shorter than the others. The shorter stick got to sleep alone.
“I got a long one,” said Gigi.
“I got a long stick too.”
“I guess that means I have to sleep alone then… darn!”
Linda got the short one and seemed unhappy and silent the rest of the evening as we watched TV and ate candy. Once in bed and after all the giggling was over the room became very dark. In front of the bed, where Gigi and I were sleeping, was a large oval mirror with golden trim. Yet in the dark it only made it seem bigger.
“Hey Holly and Gigi don’t look into the mirror!! I am telling you don’t look into the mirror.”
“Why not?” We said.
“There is a big bird sitting in a large chair. I see him in the mirror. He has glowing eyes. In one hand he has a pickle and the other one he has a peanut.”
“Oh really that is scary!!”
“It is the pickle-peanut bird I have seen him before. He often tells me stories late at night. He will not hurt me but if you look into the mirror he may pull you in and you will not be able to come back out.”
Gigi and I were silent and too sacred to look and soon fell asleep.
The talking dogs.
1968: The family life that Linda enjoyed seemed much more pleasant than the one I knew. Her dad was a lot younger than my dad. Linda’s dad was a Fireman. He wrestled with his girls and with me too. Linda’s mom was very young and pretty and cracked jokes all the time that I did not understand. Their home was on a corner of the hill. They had a nice view of the San Fernando Valley. The house was surrounded by a beautiful garden that the family tended to. My first sleep over at her home is when Linda told me about the story of the talking dogs late one night.
“One night I could not get to sleep. The dogs across the valley were barking for hours. I was hot with fever.”
Linda quickly told me as not to disturb her sisters.
“Linda were you sick did you have a cold?”
“Yes I had the flu and then something happened.”
“What happened?”
“I began to be able to understand what the dogs were saying. The barks turned into human voices. All the dogs across the valley talked all thought the night. I listened to them.”
“What were they saying?”
“I picked up certain words here and there. Dogs speak differently than we do.”
“Yes?”
“They sounded, at times, like evil slithering snakes. They were planning to take over the world. It frightened me. Some of the dogs had loud voices and others laughed. They said they hated humans and that they were going to plan an attack and take all of the valley first and then the world!!”
I was amazed!! Linda’s story seemed so real to me. She told it slowly and silently and I believed every word. The next morning everything seemed normal, yet it took some time before I was friendly with the neighbors dogs again.
Linda the real witch.
1970: Linda told us that she was a witch. This being Lynn, Gigi and myself. At night she was called to her window by her coven. Here they would zoom across the valley.
“We flew over the valley. It was so neat to see places I knew below me.”
“Linda where did you fly to?”
“I was an apprentice to a real witch. I sat behind her chair and listened and learned spells!”
“Didn’t anyone see you where you were?”
“No. We sat around a large rectangular table. We were very small in the front of a neighbor’s lawn behind Serainia elementary school. It was on a lawn in front of a master witch’s house, one of the houses behind the school.”
“How strange that is? No one saw you at all?”
“It was dark. It was very dark. The coven went on adventures. Once we became animals. The lesson was to become an animal to see what it was like. I remember running through the jungles of Africa as a gazelle.”
“In Africa I love Africa.”
“Yes. I galloped with all the others. We jumped over logs and roamed around rivers. We even knew when a lion was around because we all smelled it together. It was so exciting to be able to be part of a large group and feel and think the same way and work together for the common good of all!!”
“That sounds fantastic.”
“We were many different types of animals, but what I found the strangest thing my coven did was to visit a witch’s grave yard. They don’t die, they slowly disintegrate into the earth. Some of them are very old too.”
“Why do you visit with them?”
“To comfort them and help them; like I said they were very old witches and some were very hard to see as they were not all there to see. They were decaying and invisible.
nce Linda turned 15 the stories ended. She had more important things to do. Like hang out with her older new friends at Dumez and Canoga on the little cement bridge in front of the non denominational community church. With their halter tops and shorts on, they looked and acted like cool bitches. The guys drove by in their cars honking and whistling. I lost my friend’s stories when she became interested in boys. Her long knock knees turned into long gazelle like legs; her awkward tall figure turned into a model like one. Her dirty short blonde hair grew to a long glowing lock of honey that came down to her hips.
I wonder how many times mom cleaned the stairs? Now she is free of that! No more worrying about stains on the stairs or if the kids are going to fall down them anymore.
My paternal grandmother couldn’t walk down them, so she slid down them on her behind.
Then there were the paper racing cars on paper tracks that raced down those stairs.
I remember when sixteen a brother chasing me up the stairs while grasping and ripping my only persimmon colored cashmere sweater. I guess I had done something nasty to him at the time.
What lurked at the top of the stairs?
Siblings and fights and running up the stairs and out the door.
I did that lots. Looking to the top of the stairs at night was a scary adventure because I had to go up there alone.
What lurked at the top of the stairs? My youngest child still looks up there with the same wonderful fear as I did.
Mom and a brother told me about the shadows at night that walked the stairs. They may still be there tonight.
A child hearing the distant sound of a pack of wild coyotes screaming in the night.
This was not a dream because as a child I heard and then saw the parade of music and fairies dancing up the stairs passing through my bedroom into the boy’s room.
I know the floating white ghost came from the stairs.
This all started with the sounds of the night. Waking up as a child and hearing the distant sound of a pack of wild coyotes screaming in the night.
moon light might shine through
For siblings crossing the threshold of the stairs; going up and down them was a common part of life.
Above the stairs is a window that lit up the stairs during the day and at night the moonlight might shine through.
Then there were the mysterious shining multicolored lights from alien mother ships; they turned on as fast as a light switch. Yes, at the very same window and at the bottom of the stairs. This was their point of vortex vertex contact.
holy as gold, frankincense and myrrh
During the holiday and Christmas season, Dad would staple large tree branches highlighting the stairs mixed with holiday lights.
Perfuming the air with the smell of Xmas trees as holy as gold, frankincense, and myrrh only to be overcome by the smell of booze, cigars, and food.
How can we tell the world who we really are if we mask our wisdom, our soul, and ourselves behind plastic faces of obscurity-absurdity?
The limousine drove up and parked near the vegetable produce store. It was a cold morning and the mist from storm drains, coffees shops and exhausts merged and played in the air. A round woman was bending over some tomatoes and grabbed one to put in her cart. At that time, her headdress fell exposing her face and grey hair. She must have been about seventy years old.
A man in the limousine saw her before. It was part of his routine to park and look at her in the morning. He followed her routine too, yet she looked different to him of course. He sensed it and today he saw it as he thought to himself,
“Women today never age past thirty. Plastic surgery is as common as buying toilet paper. Why is she not young-looking as well?”
He was intrigued with this woman who held herself with such natural grace and wisdom. Her deep purple headdress highlighted the grey in her hair. Today he got out of his dark car and walked over near to her.
“Yes, the tomatoes look fresh today!”
“Yes,” she said with a firm look in her eyes.
He then noticed the wrinkles forming around her eyes and mouth, and as they continued to talk her words and facial expressions showed so much wisdom. He thought to himself,
“I can see that every wrinkly has an echo of many laughs and tears. Her experience from living life shows on her face. This is refreshing and honest. I think I will ask her for a ride in my car.”
“Not today but maybe tomorrow.”
This went on for a few weeks until the day when she said yes. They spent the day driving around the city in his cool limousine. He offered her pink champagne and in return she told him why.
“I am not like other women, I know. I will tell you why. As our culture became more and more obsessed with beauty, I became more and more withdrawn. I had a wild tomato plant growing near a drainage ditch near the end of my small backyard in the city.
Throughout the year I watched it grow, from blossoms, fruit and then towards slow decay. I’ve learned to appreciate the life cycles of the tomatoes plant and of nature in general. This is the tomato wisdom shared with me!
He held her softy and listened.
“How can we tell the world who we really are if we mask our wisdom, our soul, and ourselves behind plastic faces of obscurity-absurdity?”
And so, the two of them found a small room in the city and grew older together. Keeping to themselves and growing a small little garden with herbs, flowers and of course tomatoes.
Of course, I did not affirm the quotes loudly. I wrote them in my journal instead. My big, beautiful boobs need the love of universal nurturing. They have passed the stage of Playboy Cover girl Photoshop.
Is it the Scotch-Irish in me or the French that has given me these glorious numbers? I remember a scene in the film American Beauty when our young heroine laughs when after all the dread and depression of her early teens of not having any boobs; then knowing that all she had to do is just wait a few years, because now she had a big pair. That was the humor of the scene.
My 8-year-old niece once told me she thought that,
“God is a giant boob in the sky dripping milk to everyone.”
We both laughed about her vision.
They are big and round.
They are all around
They are big and round.
They are all around
Going to Kaiser Permanente to have a mammogram is a real treat. Sister Sallie and I think it would be nice if the Breasts Center at Kaiser might have murals or pictures of breasts everywhere. All the various kinds. Not all breasts are big and round like mine…but most are round. I know it would be easier going through the mammogram ’wonderful glowing experience’ if I had a wide selection of ‘Boobs a lot’ to view on the walls at Kaiser. It would be humorous and human at the same time.
Anyhow, after writing the boob affirmation down in my journal I had a cosmic event happen of weird proportions. I went out to the local pub and a guy I have known, short, but a cool dude asked me,
“Having fun hanging with all the guys tonight?” As I was holding a nice fresh pint I said, “Just drinking My beer.”
Do you like boobs a lot?
Boobs a lot boobs a lot.
“Well sometimes that is all it takes, you are beautiful. I like your chest… I am a boobies’ man.” I gave him a look of inward knowing… that the affirmation worked…but he did not know this. I said with a toast,
“Cheers to the Scotch-Irish.”
Then he walked away. I felt all glowing and happy. A few years earlier I would have kicked his ass for saying what he did to me!! Funny how aging turns my anger into accepting humor? I was laughing at him. I do that a lot. Guys think they are so above the game. I have big boobs and an even bigger brain… wicked smart I am.
They are big and round.
They are all around
Do you like boobs a lot?
Boobs a lot boobs a lot.
It is a ‘new moon’ tonight and this is a loony short, embellished story about boobs a lot…
he other night while looking out of our bedroom window it seemed so dark in contrast to the full moon of autumn October. I was resting on my bed as the cool air embraced me and then all of a sudden many of Linda’s stories came back to me. I then proceeded to tell her stories to my husband and two sons. I would not stop talking until I affirmed Linda’s story/ memories with my mouth, You see before Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings or The Adventures of Narnia; even before I started to read fairy tales, Linda’s stories pushed me along into the world of reading, storytelling and writing.
